Gates of Hell
by Maimat B
Summary: First Days of Hell AU. The Devil wasn't always the King of Hell. He was outcast and broken, a resource, a possession. Then Mazikeen claimed him, beginning a friendship and partnership that would last eons. Co-authored by miah . arthur
1. Welcome to Hell: 1 The Fall

Co-authored by: maimat and miah . arthur  
Notes: Thank you to our beta readers: Fleem, Matchstick_Dolly, Hircine Taoist. 

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**The Fall (Is It Dead Yet?**) 1/7

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Divinity always drew forth bursts of new growth where falling-angels lay.

Mazikeen sat on her haunches on the crest of the crater's rim, staring. Heat rolled up the steep walls. Spores clouded the air. Great fissures in the crater's base spurted molten sulfur, rising in fierce blue flames. Was the body already consumed?

A wail rent the air.

It lived? She'd never seen a live one before. Movement attracted her gaze to the angel. It was half-submerged in lava. A total loss then; the angel would not last long.

It must have landed with magnificent force to make a cavity such as this. Mazikeen couldn't see the other side through the illuminated cloud of drifting spores.

How it survived the fiery lake this long was a mystery. Her three Lilim companions stood spread out along the ridge beside her, too disappointed to even snap and snarl at each other. They had followed Mazikeen into the storm following the angel's fall, had pushed themselves to the limit to be the first to claim the prize of the falling-angel's feathers, and they were too late.

They watched, expecting it to sink any moment. The angel didn't perish. A shining cord was wrapped around its body. A binding? Ash fell from the above—one knuckle deep, two knuckles—and the angel continued to thrash.

"Vog, find a cave." He nodded and turned to obey, but Mazikeen continued. The small male needed more guidance to complete the task well. "Ensure that it is big enough for a large party and has a good spring."

After he loped off, Mazikeen turned to the more competent female warriors. "I'll get a closer look. Maybe we can retrieve it somehow. You scout the area. Ensure we have the first claim."

They each shook off the mesmerization of watching the angel _not burn_ to attend to their assigned tasks. Mazikeen made her way down. Glowing blue lava welled around the angel, creating an expanding lake that occupied the deepest center of the crater floor. Every type of fungus she expected to see at a falling-angel landing site bloomed and grew around her. The life ring exceeded any she'd seen before.

As she approached, the air grew hotter, drier. The excessive heat kept the ash from settling on her clothes. When she could go no further, she sat to contemplate. To pull it ashore, she'd need a hook and chain durable enough to withstand the liquid fire. The forge workers back at her home collective could craft such an item.

Wind plucked at Mazikeen's tunic and whipped the flames higher, setting off a new round of agonized screaming from the angel. The cries were raw and broken, and yet the bound figure remained unburnt, its flesh pale and unmarred. It was difficult to see the wings, bound as they were to its back. The feathers looked to be in poor condition, but they were unscorched by the flames. She left the angel to its suffering and made her way back to the top of the rim.

Mazikeen looked up to the above, the great swirling, ever present cloud of ash continued to churn in violent, rotating columns made by the disturbance when the angel fell, but the storms had moved on. The continuous ashfall was back to normal levels. The flakes fluttered down to pile in drifts, where they would stay until being swept up by the high winds to choke the air in their cyclical pattern.

If the angel didn't die soon, she'd have to send a warrior back to the collective to alert the Soverain. Dagur would go, she decided. The warrior might be young in Mazikeen's eyes, but she was Soverain Anilith's eldest, and had abundant experience outside the collective stronghold.

Dagur and Traz returned, smirking with triumph. "We saw warriors from Soverain Melipath's collective approaching, but we made sure they knew we were here first," Dagur said. The short horns, expertly carved into sharp tips on the top of her head, turned bright red with excitement.

"How many did your stones strike?"

"More than a hand between us! We drew blood! They won't be able to hide their shame," Traz said, her sharp, protruding fangs drawing out the sibilants in her words.

"The fungus is thickest here. Fill your packs with as much as you can for provisions. We need to inform Soverain Anilith that the angel survived and wait on her orders."

They grumbled and growled. Warriors were never happy doing the work of mere gatherers, but they weren't stupid enough to argue. Vog returned and informed her he found a suitable cave. She ordered him to fill his pack.

The winds rose, and they retreated to their shelter as the poisonous ash swept into the air, reducing visibility and choking their breath.

Once inside, Mazikeen examined the shelter Vog chose. It was large, with two chambers. One room was expansive enough to comfortably fit a large hunting party, and in the smaller, interior room, a pungent spring of sulfur water created a pool large enough to draw water from. It was a fine base. And if the angel continued to live and the vigil degraded into something more political than stones and warrior blades could handle, this would be a suitable dwelling for Soverain Anilith, ruler of their collective, to claim as a temporary residence.

The warriors laid their hauls of fungi out to dry. Food often became scarce in large gatherings of Lilim, and it was better to build up supplies early. If the other collectives weren't too hostile, she'd send her warriors on a hunt to further build the stores with meat.

At the start of the next ashfall, Mazikeen and her warrior party climbed the crater's rim. She expected to find the angel dead. It was quiet, but the glint of reflective binding flashed with movement. Not dead yet.

The group of warriors from Soverain Melipath's collective approached. Varun, the leader of the party, was Mazikeen's brother from the same spawning of The Mother. They'd been close long ago, as young whelps struggling for food and shelter, but those days were a distant memory. Varun was a formidable opponent, and a favorite of the rare, fertile, elite Dames intent on birthing the strongest sprogs. He snarled as he drew near but kept his hands clear of his weapons. Mazikeen met him halfway.

"So it's true? It lives?" he asked, not bothering with a more formal greeting.

"Yes."

He scratched at the rough pale bone jutting out from his chin and looked over both their parties of warriors. Several of his fighters bore gashes from the rocks Dagur and Traz had thrown. "We concede you were first and have the feather-harvest, if you concede we have a second claim and have preferred gathering rights."

Mazikeen snorted. First rights to the angel would be worthless if it couldn't be dragged to shore before the flames consumed it. "This angel is different than the others we've claimed in the past. It lives. Everyone's going to want to fight for their share. It'll be better to wait and let the Soverains sort it out."

He nodded. "Agreed. I declare blood-drought."

A truce? Mazikeen gave him a hard look, but he seemed sincere and they were both mature enough to appreciate peace. Their equal numbers ensured they'd abide by the pact. She held out her hand. "Blood-drought!"

He clasped her arm, and they parted.

Mazikeen regrouped with her warriors. They crowded around her, eager for news and orders. "Dagur. Bring word to our Soverain, and have a chain and grappling hook forged to bring back with you. Make sure with the smithy that it will stand the intense heat of the lava long enough to haul our prize out. Vog, escort her through the pass and report back. Traz, start working on a totem worthy of Soverain Anilith. I'll check on the angel and hold the claim on our territory."

Mazikeen made her way to the bottom of the crater. The lava lake had risen higher. She crept as near as she dared.

The angel's movements were sluggish, and only the occasional cry was loud enough to reach Mazikeen's ears. Even unconsumed by the heat and flames, it had been without water for five ashfalls. No living creature she knew of could go much longer. She trudged back to the top.

Traz showed off the symbol of their collective carved deep into the rock she'd chosen for the totem. "Is it dead yet?"

"No."

"It looks weak. I bet it dies before the ash is three fingers deep." Traz dug into her talisman pouch at her belt and held out three warg teeth as a wager.

Mazikeen grinned. Her trophy pouch was heavy enough to risk. "I say it dies during the winds."

The ring of life, powered by the angel's divinity, continued spreading out of the steep slopes of the rim. Gardens such as this were scarce, growing only at sites where divinity contaminated the ground. Even if the angel died this ashfall, the radiation of its presence would provide food for many feasts.

More collectives converged on the scene. They halted a far distance away before sending emissaries and joining the truce. In the distance even more warrior parties ventured as close as they dared, most likely belonging to small communities led by very minor but ambitious Dame leaders. Even with a truce, it was safer to stay away than to risk being overpowered and claimed as someone else's prize.

Warriors from the more powerful collectives began socializing; a festive atmosphere formed as they shared gossip and stories. Wagers flew thick and fast amid much laughter and ribald joking.

The anguished cries from the crater grew louder, as the increasing winds began whipping up the flames, and Mazikeen wondered, again, how long the angel could endure under such circumstances. Everyone retreated to their shelters as the wind swept up the ash and made the air unbreathable. When the air calmed and the ashfall began anew, she climbed back to the top of the crater to check on the angel. Too bad, it lived; she lost her bet, but so did they all.

Dagur returned at the end of the ashfall to inform her that their Soverain Anilith was on her way, and presented the forged chain to Mazikeen with strict orders not to use it until a final decision was made for the angel's fate. The hook and thickness of the links looked stable, and it was frustrating to not be able to test it out right away. Mazikeen estimated another three or four ashfalls before the rest of the rulers of the major collectives made their appearances and the politicking would begin in full force.

Negotiations were a waste of time. Everyone knew Lilith would have final say on what to do with the living-angel. None would dare act without the Mother, not when there were too many whispers, too many musings of prophesy. Lilith has spoken of the future when the first bests cracked the ground. One will live, she had said. She had hinted that a living-angel would have immense power and be cherished by all of Hell.

Was this the one? Mazikeen did not know. The Lilim seemed more concerned with arranging the stage for the Mother's arrival. If the Lilim loved anything, it was a good show of pageantry and ostentation. The Soverains used the opportunity to show off their power to their greatest advantage.

A new game started at the fiery lake. Large rocks thrown into the lava caused ripples that increased the flames. The sport became even more enticing when they saw the angel responded with increased wails and thrashing. The death-bets had grown stale with its refusal to die, so now the wagering was on who could throw the closest stones without striking it. Better yet, wrapping the stones in dried fungi before chucking them created even bigger fireballs, and special varieties combusted into great fountains of flame. It howled loud enough that the entire camp laughed when a warrior from Targrelith set off a fiery fountain directly in front of it.

When the angel's reactions to their antics grew sluggish, they moved on to setting competitions to pass the time: feats of strength, speed, and prowess. They sent out hunting parties and compared trophies. The ruling class of Lilim Soverains and their lesser Dames took advantage of the blood-drought to attract as many males as they pleased, only freeing them to stagger happily back to their collective's claimed territories when the winds slowed. Even Vog got taken once.

And yet the angel lived.

How long had it been now? The atmosphere dissolved into fights and insults. The gatherers filled their baskets of fungus and moss to the brim and returned home. Lesser collectives disappeared, not risking a potential battle if the truce broke down.

Mazikeen stayed close to the crater and kept watch over the angel, the tone of its sporadic cries begged the hunter within her for death. Even whelps would not leave a beast to suffer in agony for so long without granting it an end. Even if it remained alive and unburned by the lava, the angel would never be of use to anyone if left to the fire for eternity. It was wasteful.

Soverain Regulith, from the most remote but fastest growing collective, arrived. By then, the angel had done nothing but writhe sluggishly for two full ashfalls, no matter what they had thrown at it. The death-betting picked up pace once more.

If all went well, Lilith would arrive soon and award Anilith possession of the angel. Only Soverain Anilith was strong enough to protect this valuable resource from starting a war between other collectives. Securing a living-angel within their collective would be invaluable. Mazikeen smiled to imagine a perpetually regrowing supply of feathers.

Mazikeen itched to have the politics done and the angel in their possession. Confident the angel would be theirs, she started planning. The angel would need care and preparation before being transported to the collective, and she'd need a better shelter to get it ready for the journey. This cave was too near the others for comfort. She knew of a shelter by the ridge that would be ideal. She ordered her warriors to ready provisions.

After the next ashfall, Lilith appeared.

She was alone, as she always was. Beautiful. Cold. Deadly. Power pulsed around her and sent a wave of fear sweeping through the assemblage. Mazikeen smelled that several of the congregated Lilim had wet themselves. The lesser, younger Lilim were smacking their lips, baring their teeth, and ducking their heads in total submission like beaten whelps.

A deep, boiling anger was the only feeling Lilith stirred in Mazikeen. The Mother stood tall and imperious. Others may have grovelled, but Mazikeen was one of the true daughters of Lilith. She was not fertile, excluding her from joining the ruling class of powerful Soverain leaders and their Dames, but in a society of conquest and power, she was not beholden to anyone. Being free to live as she pleased was more important to her than any title could ever be.

The three most powerful Soverains, Anilith, Melipath, and Regulith assembled with Mother. The leaders stood for only a moment at Lillith's side before she departed, returning to seclusion as she always did. They'd all waited for hands of ashfalls for Lilith to arrive, and she stayed barely long enough to deliver her orders.

It was as long as Lilith ever bothered to reveal herself to her children. But Mazikeen knew most of the congregated Lilim would consider the brief appearance the highlight of their existence.

Soverain Anilith raised her fists in triumph. Melipath fumed behind her. She was one of the oldest Lilim, and notoriously ambitious. If Melipath had been the one to be granted the living angel, Mazikeen would have considered switching sides. Though she lived under the protection of Anilith's Collective, she had no inherent obligation toward any Soverain.

Anilith summoned Mazikeen to represent their collective. "It is ours; we are to keep it alive."

The angel had barely moved in the last ashfall, not even shaking when splashed by the rocks. Some thought it dead, but Mazikeen knew better. The Lilim came together to watch her spin the hooked chain, throwing it out into the center of the fire lake.

The first toss was a miss. The second came close, and the angel awakened and attempted to clutch at the hook, but it could not keep its grasp as the chain pulled. The third time she threw, the hook snagged the binding. Resistance to being pulled to shore was strong, as though an unnatural force held it in place. Other Lilim grabbed hold, using all their force to pull the line and finally it emerged, the naked form going limp as they dragged it further onto land.

She prodded it. It was breathing, but unresponsive. It's shape matched the Lilim, as the other falling-angels did. This one was male and long-limbed. His black hair twisted into thick coils, and, like other falling-angels, displayed the same Mother-like symmetry and beauty in its features.

Bruises and bleeding wounds marred smooth, pale skin, but he was stunning. In the lava-heated air, cool, fresh blood, oozed down his exposed flesh. There was no trace of fire damage. The wings sprouting from his back were huge, the largest of any angel Mazikeen had seen yet. Too bad most of the feathers were ragged and bent, but the few that remained undamaged glowed with divinity.

Mazikeen unhooked the chain and passed it to another. Despite the struggle to bring him ashore, the angel was light, confirming her suspicions that an unknown power had held him in place.

Everyone wanted a closer look at the living-angel now that they'd fished him from the fire. The Lilim crowded around, watching and waiting for it to reawaken. One bold warrior had the gaul to reach toward the wing with a huge, clawed knife, intent on stealing a feather.

Mazikeen leapt between them, snarling a warning. "No one touches him. He belongs to Soverain Anilith."

The Lilim backed off, growling at Mazikeen's favored role. Mazikeen examined the angel's wings with disappointment; whatever had happened to him before he fell from the above had taken its toll. In captivity, hopefully he would regrow the precious feathers in a quantity that would meet everyone's needs and expectations.

The binding held strong. Though it was only a thin golden cord, it had worn deep during his struggles, digging into his flesh. Despite all his struggles in the fiery lake, he'd not been able to free himself, but for Mazikeen, all it took was a light tug on the loop around the wings and it fell loose. The divine power within the cord made her fingertips tingle. With the help of Traz and Dagur, she extended the limbs and treated the wounds with a healing salve.

And all the while the angel remained unconscious, the only sign of life the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

Mazikeen tested the limbs, feeling weaknesses in several of the bones between the joints. The worst was a long bone on the right, bent near the base. Together, they snapped the misaligned bone into place. The angel groaned and writhed at the handling, but he didn't wake.

They folded the wings against his back and wrapped the magical cord around him once more when they finished their inspection. If he had power, she did not want to risk an escape attempt. She could deal with the rest of his wounds after moving him to the shelter on the other side of the ridge.

As they were about to lift him, the angel stirred. He moved his head side to side, taking in the assembled Lilim. He writhed and twisted against the bindings, but they tightened with his every move.

Excited whispers began. The angel looked to the above, made a warbling screech, and spasmed, back arching off the ground. A sound like nothing she'd ever heard burst from his mouth: it began low and built until the surrounding rocks shook.

To the shock and horror of everyone assembled, fire engulfed the angel's body. Flames danced over his skin, flesh blistering before her eyes, blackening and peeling back to reveal the dark red exposed tissue of what lay beneath. Mazikeen feared the vibration of the angel's screams would bring the rim of the crater crashing in on them.

_"__It's on fire!" "Throw it back in!" "Impossible!" "How does it burn now and not in the lava?" "The feathers will burn away!" _and more clamor rose around them.

In desperation, Mazikeen grabbed at the angel's torso, searching for the source of the burning. Flames licked her hand, but no heat touched her. The angel was cool even while the blaze consumed him. The dark hair on top of his head turned to ash, and his face charred and scaled back, leaving exposed muscle and bone. Even his eyes ignited from within.

Then it stopped, and he lay motionless, only his eyes open and glowing red with an inner flame. His skin and hair had melted away, leaving red and raw hide, healed into twisted, pitted, and ridged scar tissue. The wings remained as they had been, the few intact feathers still perfect and powerful with divinity. Mazikeen tapped his cheek and shook him. His eyes drifted shut.

The faces around her displayed varying levels of fear and trepidation.

Soverain Anilith had watched the angel transform from afar and regarded the sight with anger. "Mazikeen, did it die?"

"He lives. Only his outward appearance has changed; the wings remain intact," Mazikeen called back.

The Soverains huddled together. The remaining warriors stood frozen, enthralled by the spectacle they'd just witnessed. When the Soverains split apart, Anilith said, "Its appearance is of no consequence. I will keep it alive in whatever form it wears. The trophy is mine. However, for such a prize The Mother's Journey will be re-enacted in a Trophy March."

Melipath, dissatisfied with allowing Anilith to speak for all of them, jostled her way to the forefront. "One warrior from each of the three largest collectives will escort the beast from the Swathe to Anilith's borders. Varun, son of The Mother, will represent me."

"Ovtig, my best warrior, will represent me," Regulith announced without stepping forward.

Elbows were thrown and knowing leers traded among the other contingents. Regulith might be Soverain of the fastest growing collective, but she had not attracted a single true daughter, or even a son, of Lilith. All of her subjects were Lilim-born.

Anilith glared at the other two for interrupting her. "Mazikeen, daughter of Lilith, will represent my collective."

After much bickering and negotiating of details, the angel was at last hoisted on a litter for the move.


	2. Welcome to Hell: 2 First Impression

**Welcome to Hell: 2/7 First Impression**

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"Here's fine," Mazikeen declared. She lowered her end of the litter beside the empty fire pit.

The other Lilim, Traz, let the bone handle drop with a jarring clatter. "We can trail you. Make sure none of those bootless ash-lickers try anything."

The angel remained still and unconscious. The shallow rise and fall of his chest the only indication he survived. Now it was Mazikeen's job to ensure he stayed that way.

Mazikeen eyed her companions. Dagur stood by the entrance pretending not to hear. Vog nodded vigorously, expression vacant like a typical male. The standards must have been extra slack the cycle he made warrior. Traz had gained favor in Anilith's eyes during the blood-drought, and she carried herself with a new cockiness that irritated Mazikeen. The way Traz had been sucking up to Anilith during the vigil was the standard technique to curry favor into power...if Anilith didn't tire of her and send her into exile or banish her to a cavern cell to rot.

Mazikeen hated politics, but she knew how important it was to follow rituals in these cases. The collectives existed in an uneasy tolerance, and skirmishes and all out wars broke out over petty differences all the time. Ceremonies like the Sacred March were vital for balancing tensions.

Raising her voice, to be sure Dagur couldn't claim she hadn't heard, Mazikeen said, "And what would that make us? Interfering in a ceremonial march is forbidden. Guard Soverain Anilith's return, her procession is more vulnerable than we are from other Lilim. Few would dare risk the curse that comes with violating a ritual."

A Sacred March was ceremonial and thus overruled common sense. The custom was to form a small procession of warriors from rival collectives, to demonstrate the bond of kinship among the Lilim. It symbolized The Mother's Journey. _Back in the time of the great curse, three beasts escorted Mother across the sulfur plains to seek refuge in the caves. Those were the beasts, so it was said, with whom she birthed the Lilim._ To recreate such a pact among rivals represented the great alliance... Blah blah blah.

Warriors from opposing collectives were forced to cooperate and not kill each other. Great in theory, a pain in the ass in practice.

Mazikeen shook her head. It was a stupid and reckless gamble to transport a wild, injured beast with only three warriors to defend it. Lilith hadn't specified how the angel should reach Anilith's Collective. The Soverains lived in the luxury of their elite spires and tended to forget what the outerlands beyond the collective strongholds were like.

She regretted seeing her fellow warriors depart, but with begrudging grumbles they accepted Mazikeen's order to join Anilith's guard and filed out.

Just inside the outer door flap, one of the chosen Sacred March companions, Ovtig of Regulith, loomed. She looked past Mazikeen, to the cavern where the angel lay, eager for a closer look.

She was a large Lilim, a head taller than Mazikeen with clawed, scaly hands. "Be ready. We'll depart as soon as the winds calm," she declared, her tone commanding.

"We'll depart when the angel is ready to travel and not a heartbeat sooner. Do not cross this threshold again. Out," Mazikeen ordered. Ovtig snarled, but spun away. The door flap fell back into place as Ovtig exited.

Alone at last, Mazikeen tied tight knots to hold the covering in place over the door, keeping out the blowing ash of the coming winds. As Anilith's representative, Mazikeen was in charge of the angel until she deemed him healthy enough to withstand the journey. She had demanded the rivals who would be accompanying her on the march home occupy a separate shelter, and after much wrangling, the Soverains had consented. It would be easier to handle the angel on her own.

The shelter was dark and cool, and a stack of provisions lined the wall to the left. Mazikeen knelt to examine the angel bound on the floor. The burns had healed into mottled scars over his body and he looked very different from the other angels she'd seen. The bumpy, reddish skin felt supple and soft—as a hide should. Strange how he had burned only after being pulled from the fiery lake, and how the mysterious, cold, fire consumed his body but not his wings. She smoothed one of the broken feathers and jerked away as the angel awoke and thrashed against the bindings. The cord was a mystery, barely more than a ribbon, with no knot she could discern, yet it held him securely.

The bindings tightened each time the angel twisted and struggled, only to ease as he stilled. It should have been easy for the creature to escape such a trap, but the cord held on with deceptive intent. Power worked within it.

"Shh," she placed her hand flat on the angel's shoulder and he recoiled from the touch. "Stay calm and this will be much easier on you." She prodded at the wounds caused by the cord with her other hand. He thrashed and strained against her efforts.

She pressed hard against his shoulder and growled. "Keep still, angel." His wounds needed to get treated and sealed with resin. The smell of blood risked attracting predators.

He heard her, but there was no comprehension in his expression. The struggles continued with renewed vigor. Mazikeen grasped both his arms, pinning him to the ground until he stilled, sides heaving and eyes roaming wildly.

Mazikeen hoped to tame the angel enough to walk on a lead rather than to have to bind and carry him. "Good, good," she spoke calmly. Even beasts without language responded to tone.

The angel opened his mouth and a torrent of flowing, high-pitched melodic sounds filled the air. She'd never heard an angel before, and it was different from the honks and screeches of the hell-beasts she was familiar with. He attempted to wriggle out from her hold, but she kept her grip on his arms steady and firm, letting him spend his energy until he succumbed to exhaustion.

That was better. Only then did Mazikeen give an experimental tug on the binding cord. At her touch, the cord loosened as it had earlier to release his wings. Another tug and the loop around one arm slackened and came free.

He clawed at the restraint with his free hand and the struggle caused the cord to tighten around the rest of his frame until he whimpered and let his arm fall to the floor. Even with one arm free, the length that bound him would not release its hold. When he stilled, the cord slackened. It was a clever device, diabolical in its application. She waited and observed. He tried, again and again to get free, his distressed expression sharpening with each tug and twist of the rope.

Did he know he couldn't free himself from the bindings? A clever beast might reserve its energy once it realized there was no escape from a trap. After a brief rest, his struggles renewed. Either he wasn't clever, or he was very stubborn.

He made more of the warbling sounds, this time with a hard edge. His grotesque features pulled into angry lines, but the anger melted into something else—despair, maybe—as his struggles slowed. Mazikeen had played this game with beasts before. Give it a taste of freedom before taking it away. Instill helplessness. A helpless beast was easier to tame.

Something prickled within her at the thought. She didn't _want_ this creature's spirit broken.

She shook the feeling away. He was not hers to command. He would be used as a resource, feather-harvested, and dangled before the other collectives as a bargaining tool. It would be a mercy to break his spirit now, while he was weak, rather than let it linger for Anilith's handlers to brutalize out of him later.

After all, Mother's decree was that he live, not that he be kept happy.

Now that he'd calmed, Mazikeen unwound the binding further. The angel froze, even his breathing muted, but tension thrummed through his body. The angel's eyes remained unfocused, but though they did not fix on any of their surroundings, he seemed to follow the sound of her movement.

With one last tug, the entire length of the cord unraveled and fell away. If he panicked or tried to attack or run, she'd be ready.

He didn't move other than to draw in a deep breath. She patted his shoulder, and he slowly raised his arm. The pads of his fingers caressed the back of her hand in a way that felt disturbingly intimate, and Mazikeen recoiled.

The angel dropped his hand back to his side. He struggled into a sitting position and braced himself on the floor. The strange sounds flowed from his mouth, his calls rising and falling in strange rhythms.

He stopped, took a breath, and resumed his song.

She wondered if the noises meant anything to others of his kind, like the mating calls and warning growls of the warg. Finally she covered his mouth to make him stop. "Shush."

He quieted at her touch and she pulled her hand away. His eyes bothered her, not their appearance, but the way they remained unfocused was unsettling. She waved her hand in front of his face. No reaction. She snapped her fingers. He flinched.

Well.

The angel was blind. Inconvenient, but it didn't matter. They didn't need his eyes. He lived, and his feathers were intact. The rest was irrelevant.

Now that he was unbound, he needed water and food. She picked up a waterskin, filled it with fresh water, and brought it back.

"Drink."

He only tilted his head, failing to understand. Sightless, right. She picked up his arm and placed the waterskin against his hand. His fingers closed around the container and he brought it closer to his nose and sniffed at it. She pushed it up to his face and tilted, spilling water over his lips until he drank. At first, he gagged and spat, but eventually tilted the container up on his own, drinking nearly the entire thing in thirsty gulps.

More ridiculous sounds flowed forth. Noisy creature, wasn't he? She placed her hand over his mouth while making a shushing sound and he stopped. Good. Even better if he stayed quiet. The other Lilim warriors would be far less patient with a noisy beast along the trail.

"Are you hungry?" she asked and looked back at her supplies. There was plenty of dried and powdered scalding ooze fungus, a food disdained by all but young spawn Lilim, but it was easy to prepare. She lit a fire with her striker and bundles of dried moss, and heated water in a pot to make porridge.

As soon as the flames ignited, he turned toward the fire, his gaze steady for the first time. Could he see it?

Yes, his gaze became focused in the light. Dark blindness happened rarely with Lilim spawn. He started looking around the shelter, his attention now on her. With effort, the angel rose to his feet and walked on unsteady legs until he was at her side, copying her posture to kneel as she did.

The angel reached out to her and...froze, his breath quickening as he stared at his own scarred flesh. He brought both hands before his eyes, unable to tear his gaze away.

His fiery red eyes held more expression than she thought possible in anything other than Lilim-kind. He leaned over the pot of water at the fire and peered into the reflective surface.

In a flash of movement, he knocked over the pot and backed away. Mazikeen stood, ready to defend herself, but he was entirely focused on himself. His hands ran over the scars on his face, the bald head, and Mazikeen realized he hadn't known his skin had changed.

Perhaps there was a chance to calm him. Mazikeen reached out as she had when he was bound, placing her hand on his shoulder, but he broke away, staggering across the room into the far corner. With great gasps and wailing calls, he dropped to the rough floor, curling up like a cave beetle. One trembling, ragged-looking wing fluffed out as a protective shelter over his naked body, and there he stayed.

The uneasy feeling from earlier returned. He knew he looked different than he should. The angel was self-aware.

Mazikeen shuddered at the thought of the Mother's prediction of a powerful and cherished living-angel. Powerful? Cherished? She looked at the incoherent wreck in the corner with contempt. This pathetic creature hadn't had the power to free himself from the binding cord. He couldn't even speak. And, worse yet, he was _male_.

A male with such influence was a ridiculous idea. Physically, Lilim males were as capable as females and they made fine hunters and warriors, but they were never favored. Most of them were more suited for tasks like moss and fungus gathering; simple chores that required less of them mentally. They were the only ones with dispositions meek enough to mind Lilim sprogs and spawn. No Lilim female, and certainly not Mother, would ever stoop so low.

Surely, the living-angel should be more impressive than this? Mazikeen sniffed contemptuously. If this one died, would one more worthy fall to take his place? She clenched her fists, wishing this was not so complicated. This beast was here now, and her job was to keep him alive.

Deeply unsettled, she looked back at the pot of water he'd spilled. She needed to clean that up and feed him. Knowing her next action calmed her mind. Her concern was to get the angel to Anilith in one piece. With luck, this outburst would pass and she'd be able to continue preparing him for the journey ahead.

She poured more water into the pot and set it to boil as she watched the angel from the corner of her eye. He hadn't moved since he'd collapsed there, and she dared hope that was the end of his fit.

The outer door flaps shook. The winds had risen. Whatever happened now, there would be no leaving the shelter until the wind settled and the ashfall began anew.

Mazikeen mixed the scalding ooze in the boiling water and stirred until it congealed into a thick paste. When it finished, she took a bowl to him, holding it out of reach should he get the urge to knock things over.

He didn't stir. Mazikeen placed the bowl aside and prodded at him. "Wake up! You need to eat." It was ridiculous to speak to him as if he were Lilim, but at least no one was there to see her foolishness.

His wing twitched and retracted, revealing his face. Mazikeen grasped his arm and pulled him into a sitting position. The fight was out of him. He sat hunched, his hands in his lap, eyes locked on his own red hide. He showed no readiness to attack or bite.

"Eat."

He looked from the bowl to her.

Did he not understand what food was? Even a beast should understand food.

"Eat," she said and dipped her fingers in the porridge and brought them to her mouth. Was this what nest minders had to do to make the newborn Lilim sprogs eat? She plastered on a toothy smile to encourage him.

The angel pressed against the wall, more horrified than before.

She backed off and pointed from the bowl to him. He tentatively reached out and drew the bowl closer.

"Good, good," Mazikeen nodded approvingly as first tasted, and then started scooping globs of the porridge into his mouth with his fingers. So he was dim, but teachable. He devoured the meal with as much desperation as he had the water, scraping the bowl clean before she took it away.

More nonsensical chattering issued forth. Mazikeen turned back to the angel and rolled her eyes. She placed her hand over his mouth and shushed him. What would it take to teach him to be silent?

He brushed her hand away and rubbed at his forehead. Mazikeen reached forward again when he opened his mouth, but he stopped. After several repetitions, his shoulders drooped, and he warbled a low hum before he turned back toward the fire.

Now that he was fed and watered; she needed to check his wounds. She reached out and tapped his arm; he glanced at her and scooted sideways to put more space between them. She grabbed him firmly and lifted his arm to inspect the damage.

He glared and his eyes flashed a low glow of flame, but he didn't pull away. Yet.

The scarred and pitted texture of his skin made identifying wounds a challenge. She prodded at the areas she suspected needed attention and discovered the damaged areas looked swollen and glossy. Most of the injuries weren't bleeding, but all open wounds required sealing against the toxic ash particles. Contamination with ash would cause wounds to fester and take much longer to heal.

"Stay," she said, and stood up. He moved to follow, and she pushed back on his shoulder he sat. "Stay," she repeated, backing off a step. He watched her with a frown and rose to one knee. "No. Stay."

He made another strange warbling sound as she walked away from him. Was she only imagining his noises had a purpose? Petulant, complaining whelps were just as whiney. When she looked back, he stared at her and cocked his head to the side, waiting for a response.

She rolled her eyes and went to get the salve.

"You're going to sit and be good and not bite or scratch," Mazikeen instructed as she opened the jar. A pungent odor wafted up and filled the room. Even she had to steady her expression not to give away her initial revulsion.

The angel retreated from the foul smell, but Mazikeen caught his ankle before he could get far. "Stay."

He recognized the word and settled, watching her warily. Mazikeen dipped her fingers into the salve, and her fingertips went numb from the medicinal fungi mixture. With exaggerated care, she showed him the slimy glob. He made a disgusted face and pulled his arm away.

"No." She tugged his arm back towards her. "This would be easier if you could understand me." Hitting him would be of no value. Long ago, Mazikeen had tamed a warg to follow her. The giant, fur-covered beast had been a powerful ally to have on the sulfur fields. That had been long before taking up with Anilith's Collective. Most Lilim didn't grasp the concept of using beasts or how to tame them. Beasts didn't appreciate the value of physical punishment like young Lilim whelps, who responded to a good thrashing by learning their lesson.

He let out a quick exhale of breath. Mazikeen looked at him with her eyes narrowed. He looked back with equally narrowed eyes, watching her as she brought the goop closer to his skin.

He tensed, hissing in a breath when she touched him, but he relaxed as the mixture started to kick in. Twisting his arm, he poked at the wound before glancing back at her. She held the salve out of reach as he grabbed for the jar. He relented, but grinned and offered his arm. He eagerly pointed to new spots for her to treat. Mazikeen's heart pounded. It was too much like whelps showing off their 'battle scars' and begging for attention after an ashfall of sparring.

There was a moment of tension when she reached to check his wing, running her hand along the boney ridge there, but after a few agitated starts and stops, he settled. The area that had felt broken earlier was swollen and the angel flinched away when she prodded at it, but the bone still felt to be in place. She worked in a bit of the salve to the skin at the base of his feathers there, just for the numbing properties, and though she felt the limb tremble under her care, the angel sighed quietly as she rubbed it in.

Mazikeen had to stop letting him affect her. He wasn't a whelp. He wasn't even a Lilim. He was a beast. This was her job. If she started thinking of him as more than a beast, she risked getting attached. Her assignment was to deliver him to her collective, nothing more.

After she'd treated the wounds, the tension in the angel's posture relaxed and he sat in front of the fire flicking pieces of gravel from his palm into the coals. Mazikeen examined the stocked supplies. Before beginning their journey, he would need to be clothed. Beast he may be, but he seemed Lilim-like in structure. He wouldn't need anything as complex as her own full warrior regalia, which included a decorated tunic cinched with a belt, a clout, and leggings with sturdy boots that kept the ash away from her feet. For the angel, a simple chiton would suffice. The single, draped garment in the style of the lowest-ranked Lilim was more than adequate for a prisoner.

Accommodating his wings while leaving his arms free for binding would take careful arrangement. She chose a long supple piece of hide.

"Feel this," she said, showing him the soft leather.

He ran his hand over it, pinching and rubbing. He blinked with confusion and trilled melodically. She took his hand and tugged him up to his feet. He swayed in place and yawned, his song forgotten. She pressed against him to pull the leather around his back and under the wing joints. He squirmed but didn't resist. The leather was brought up around the front and clasped at the top of his left shoulder. She tied a strap around his waist to keep it from billowing open like a cape and stepped away to judge her handiwork. He tugged on the material, plucking at it, and looked at her with a confused expression.

Mazikeen sighed. His skin wasn't roughened to the elements and now that he was well away from the fiery lake, he was cool to the touch. How did he not understand clothes? She sat and motioned for him to join her. He slumped forward, resting his arms on his knees. On impulse, Mazikeen pulled out a thinner and softer piece from the provisions. These wraps were difficult to come by, and expensive trade items. It wasn't her intent to spoil him with luxuries he'd never see again, but if he was cool sitting by the fire, he'd freeze on the trail. He watched her with half-lidded eyes as she bundled each foot for warmth, leaving his big toe exposed for the sandal laces.

After feeling the foot wraps, he sighed with contentment and leaned into her side. She allowed the contact and watched as his eyes began drifting shut, his head tipping forward until he jolted upright, struggling to stay awake. Against her better judgment, Mazikeen shook out her bedroll. "You can sleep here. Just for now." She pointed at the mat. He shifted onto the softer surface.

"Go on, lie down." She poked at his shoulder.

He started with the noises and she lifted her hand to stop him, but this time he caught her midway. With an exaggerated sigh, he placed his own hand over his mouth and lay down.

Mazikeen grinned. Good. The faster the angel learned, the better.

The next item of clothing was the most important. He needed solid foot coverings. There were scraps of thick hide big enough to shape into sandals for his feet. After a rest, she'd make them. There was plenty of time, since he was far too weak to risk travel the next ashfall.

The angel sprawled across her bedroll taking up the entire space. She nudged him with her foot. He only flopped to his side without waking. Mazikeen crawled over him and shoved with her entire body, but the action only molded his form to hers. Fine, whatever, it was just one rest. For now, they could share. Besides, it was the easiest way to keep track of him and sleep at the same time.

She woke to fingers touching her hair. The angel drew his hand along the side of her head, trailing strands through his fingers. She let him continue. When she brought her arm up and touched his hand, he jerked away as though slapped. He retreated, crouching defensively, mouth pressed into a thin line and body coiled up with tension.

Skittish, wasn't he?

In an effort not to play into his anxiety, she ignored him, got up, brushed herself off, and started on breakfast: more powdered ooze. His tension eased as soon as she had the fire lit to heat the water. She'd forgotten he was blind in the total darkness. He crept back to the bedroll with a look she'd call embarrassed if he were Lilim.

She refilled the waterskin, and said, "Drink." His hand came up to accept it. "Yes, good!"

Mazikeen scooped the ooze porridge into a bowl and held it out. She wanted him to learn to let her know when he was hungry or thirsty. Living-angels were a new and foreign beast, and she didn't know how often he needed basics. He licked his lips and swallowed, looking from the food to her. She shook the bowl under his nose, then sat it between them.

He hesitated but took the chance to grab the bowl. Mazikeen caught his arm before he could retreat across the room.

"Stay, eat." Mazikeen patted the bedroll next to her. He wavered but settled beside her, focused entirely on the food and eating every last drop of it.

When he finished eating, she traced the outline of his feet onto the rawhide, and he chattered at her with his weird calls. He snatched the hide from her, rubbed it, sniffed it, even licked it. He thrust it back at her after licking it, warbling and making pitiful faces until she handed him the waterskin. When she opened her roll of tools, he picked up each of them, examining everything with interest. His innocent delight in the mundane objects and tasks confused her. This living-angel was the strangest beast she'd ever encountered. Rather than be annoyed, Mazikeen indulged his odd behaviour, despite the delay of needing to retrieve her tools from his grasp. Finally, he grew bored and his focus shifted to the fire.

Before she finished cutting the first sole, he curled up on his side, one arm tucked under his head, and his eyes drifted shut. It came as no surprise that he needed time to sleep and recuperate.

The ashfalls of waiting for a decision as he screamed and writhed in the fire haunted her thoughts.

Why had the angel been bound as he plummeted from the above? Had he been flung down with the intent? The binding, and how it tethered him to remain trapped in the midst of the fiery lake hinted at intelligent design. Did another angel cause this or were there more monstrous, powerful creatures in the above? If Mother had not ordered the angel's removal from the lava, how long would he have survived, immersed and suffering within the intense blue flames?

Torture wasn't an uncommon tactic used against enemies, and the Lilim were well-practiced in methodologies to break an opponent's will and mind. He hadn't burned, but the screams had been real.

What had the angel done to deserve such a harsh punishment? And what kind of sadist had ordered it?

She was lacing the second sandal when she glanced at him. Her breath caught in her throat. He'd stretched out his arm, extending his hand over the fire and holding it in place. His eyes glowed, and his jaw was clenched tight, mouth grimaced in pain, yet even as his arm trembled, he held it in place and watched the flames lick over him.

"NO!" Mazikeen tossed the sandal to the side and grabbed the angel's shoulder and yanked him back. There was no resistance to her handling, he flopped onto his back and lay slack beneath her.

His arm.

She expected blisters or blackened, burned skin…but his red hide hadn't changed. Was she inspecting the wrong arm? She pulled at his other hand, comparing the two. Perhaps the angle had only made it look like his hand was within the flames? No. She trusted her own eyes, had recognized the look of pain as he held his arm over the fire, and yet his skin was cool to the touch.

She released him and stood up, stepping backward. What did this mean?

The angel stumbled onto his feet, and high-pitched, rhythmic but sharp calls tumbled from his mouth. He directed his rant upwards, addressing the ceiling of the shelter, eyes still ignited from within. His wings flared and snapped the air as he paced back and forth.

Mazikeen kept her distance, transfixed on the display of anger and frustration before her. He had magnificent potential for violence, and with the right handling she suspected he'd make a fierce hunting companion. The urge to keep him for herself was tantalizing.

It was a shame he was destined for other things.

His voice faltered and broke, the sudden burst of energy dissipated, leaving the angel looking weary and haggard. He returned to sit by the fire, fixated on the flames once more.

Mazikeen joined him, sitting so close their shoulders brushed together. He didn't acknowledge her presence, but he didn't pull away. "You're immune to fire, but not the pain it causes," she whispered and inspected his arm yet again. He looked to her and with his other hand he reached up to touch the corrupted side of her face. Only Mother possessed the beauty of symmetry, her Lilim children were all beast-marked in their own way.

He stared at her and brushed the back of his fingers along her distorted cheek and sighed.

They sat together for a long time. Outfitting him for the journey was the next step, but she had patience enough to give him a chance to recuperate. A gurgling rumble sounded from his stomach. He touched her arm and looked from her to the bowl, and she dished out some more of the ooze porridge for him to eat. That he had the awareness and ability to request food when he wanted, didn't help settle her thoughts.

He lounged on her bedroll as the calm of the ashfall ended and the winds grew strong outside again, marking the end of another cycle. If she did not know what awaited him, she'd keep him here for another hand of ashfalls. As it was, it would wise to just focus on her duty and be done with the whole affair as soon as possible. The angel wasn't her problem. They'd start the walk to Anilith's Collective at the beginning of the next ashfall.

She woke to the angel wrapped around her, his nose pressed to the join of her neck and shoulder and his arm across her stomach. His muscles tightened for a heartbeat when she tried to move him. This time when she rose from the sleeping mat, he did not retreat. He remained still as she lit the fire. After there was light for him to see by, he began exploring his surroundings with more energy than he'd shown the ashfall before.

He padded around the cave, inspecting the walls, prodding at the orange slurry fungus, startling and regaling her with calls when a beetle scuttled away from him. Mazikeen set a pot to boil and packed her bag with extra water and several packets of the powdered scalding ooze she'd been feeding him. He found the door flap and prodded at it.

"No," she said ready to stop him if he continued.

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing as he looked between her and the door, but he let his hand drop away and returned to her side. He sat beside her and held up his hand with an expectant look. She smiled. He was an easy beast to train. She gave him the waterskin, and he smiled in return. The porridge was ready, so she set it aside to cool.

Now for the sandals. If they were to make good time, the angel needed hard foot coverings. Kneeling, she tugged on his foot to get him to lift it. He chirped—an amused sound—but cooperated. She placed the hardened leather against the sole of his foot and wound the leather lace between his toes and around his heel. His trilling sounded less amused as she tied the second one, but he allowed it. She pulled him forward a step to try them out. He kicked them off.

Mazikeen growled low in her throat in annoyance. He gave a weary sigh but offered no resistance as she replaced the sandals and tied the knots tighter this time. He stepped forward as she pulled on him, lifting his foot too high and tripping on the first step. With an agitated warble, he kicked them off again. Mazikeen took a breath. The angel cooperated in lifting his feet, but trilled at her in his weird melodic tones the entire time. That was enough. Uncomfortable as it may be, she looped the string around his foot and ankle, there would be no kicking them off this time.

He continued protesting in his weird trills and warbles.

"Shush," she said and drew him forward.

He tried kicking them off, and she blocked it with her leg. "No." He tried again, and she blocked him. "_No_!" He refused to move, but she gave a quick yank to pull him off balance, forcing him forward.

He only stepped forward to keep from falling, his toes curling as he got stubborn. "Come on, you can do it," she urged and tugged harder. This time he walked. She led him around the room, getting him used to the feel of the sandal under his foot.

Another long string of sounds began and Mazikeen sighed. Did he ever stop?

"No! Shush!" she ordered. He quieted but exhaled a long forceful breath from his nose. "No more noises." How could she make him understand?

Once she was sure he'd stay quiet, she tugged on him to sit.

"You don't sound Lilim, and when we're out on the trail, those ridiculous noises you make will attract every beast within hearing distance. And you're not the one who will have to fight them off, are you?" she scolded. He looked as blank as ever.

How could she help him understand the need to be quiet? Mazikeen held out her hand, fingers curled, except the index and middle, forming a little hand-Lilim. It wasn't easy to mimic his noises, but she tried, "Blalalalala," the hand representing the Lilim trotted across the air. With her other hand, she made a clawing motion and growled, and wrapped her palm around the finger-Lilim as though eating it whole before letting her hand fall flat to her knee. "See?

He snorted and started to laugh.

She stared, alarmed by his reaction. Beasts don't laugh. "This isn't funny. We have to get you to the collective without attracting every predator along the way." It was useless, wasn't it? Why was she even trying when it was obvious he didn't understand? It had been hard enough fitting him with sandals. How would he react to being gagged?

He stopped laughing when he looked at her face. He sobered and brought his own hand up to cover his mouth.

Or maybe he did understand.

Mazikeen nudged the bowl of porridge. "Eat."

He looked at her, his strangely expressive face showing worry, but he snatched the bowl and hurriedly ate the entire bowl of porridge. Did angels always need to eat so often, or was this desperate hunger a sign of starvation? He didn't look starved. Just another mystery to the growing mountain of questions she couldn't answer.

Nothing she did would prepare the angel for the ashfall ahead.

The temptation to keep the angel for herself and cast out on her own was enticing. Traveling with her warg, with no politics to drag her down, had been good times. The warg was long dead, but now she could have an angel. He had at least minimal awareness. He was strong; trainable.

Anything would be better for the angel than what Anilith had planned for him, but if she defied the Soverain now she'd be outcast, hunted, and left to die. The living-angel had been given to Anilith by Mother herself. Her part in this was to deliver him to Anilith. No one said she had to approve. The angel watched her with a wary look at odds with the casual trust he'd shown when he'd woken up.

Mazikeen snuffed out the fire, leaving the angel blind. It would be better if he didn't see this coming.

He tried to follow her movements by sound, but she moved silently and picked up the cord that had bound him in the lake. The move would have to be fast. The last thing she wanted was to have to call the others in to restrain the angel while she bound him.

She stepped closer and brushed her hand against the his arm. He flinched but didn't back off. He was used to her now, unsuspecting. She wanted to keep this as calm as possible.

She trailed her hand down his arm, wrapping her fingers lightly around his wrist, increasing the pressure until she knew she had a firm hold. With her other hand she encircled his wrist with the cord, pulling taut as she reached for his other wrist to do the same. It didn't go well. The fact he couldn't see helped, but he moved fast.

The angel pulled back, but she'd already bound the cord to one wrist and he couldn't wrestle it away. She yanked and used her leg to swipe his feet out from under him to pin him on his back. He grunted in pain as pressure was placed on his injured wing, and she grabbed his other arm and bound his wrists together in front of him.

He bucked her off and scrambled backward, regaining his feet before tripping over the sandals and falling. He kicked, trying to dislodge the foot covers. The sounds he made were higher-pitched than before. Distressed. He strained against the bindings on his wrists to no avail. The binding was secure and she let it tighten against him in his struggles, only giving it a yank now and then to demonstrate that she held the other end. Other than that she left him to his tantrum and waited. He'd give up, eventually.

If he refused to cooperate, she'd be forced to bind his ankles and use the litter. It would be easier on them if he walked on his own. She used the time to strap on her armor, and wrap her own boots and tie them in place. The angel stopped actively struggling, but from the tension she could see in his posture, she knew the fight wasn't out of him yet. An experimental tug on the biding cord was all she needed to fire him up again.

He twisted and pulled, hard, but she resisted, resulting in a tug of war. This was not a battle of wills she was willing to lose. She stood next to him, mindful of his legs in case he kicked, and yanked him up by the arm. He resisted. She dragged him to his feet. He stood but dragged his feet to dislodge the sandals.

"No," she snarled, and kicked at the side of his leg to make him stop fussing.

He made more noise. Short, sharp, angry tones, but his eyes told another tale, one of betrayal. She swallowed. Attributing Lilim concepts to him was a waste of time. He was just another beast unused to being led. No beast accepted harnessing the first time.

He turned his head away to dislodge her hand when she covered his mouth, but she held on. The sooner she taught him who was in charge the better. The others would not tolerate defiance. "Shush."

It didn't matter how long it took, it was necessary to assert her control before leading him outside to meet the others. She tightened her hold on the cord, holding him firm, and growled low and long.

One more attempt was made to fight her off, but he was injured and weakened from his ordeal in the fiery lake. Mazikeen remained unyielding until exhaustion settled him. The angel began to falter in his resistance, and finally submitted.

She didn't trust it. This beast held too much verve to be this easily subdued, and she knew to stay on guard. He obeyed, but his eyes glowing with dim red flame. Oh, he was angry, but she'd asserted her dominance for now.

Mazikeen tugged him forward by the cord binding his wrists. He stumbled, but he moved.

Getting him moving was half the battle. It was time to leave. The other Lilim were waiting outside. Mazikeen untied the door flap and pulled the angel out of the shelter.


	3. Welcome to Hell: 3 The Journey

**Welcome to Hell: 3/7 The Journey**

* * *

A hush came over the group as Mazikeen emerged with her charge.

Ovtig of the Regulith collective stood too close to the door, attempting to appear uninterested as she waved her hand at the angel. "What about the litter?"

Mazikeen instantly disliked the warrior. Her stance, her attitude. Mazikeen's instincts screamed at her not to trust this warrior. She stepped between the angel and Ovtig.

"Do you want to be the one carrying him?" Mazikeen growled, swiping her arm against the ridiculous arm-length spike sticking from the chest of Ovtig's beetle shell armor. "The angel has legs. Carry the litter yourself. If we need it, we'll use it, otherwise, why waste the effort?"

Ovtig wasn't taking the hint, and Mazikeen felt her annoyance building into outright anger. Ovtig wasn't powerful enough to disrespect Mazikeen so overtly. Mazikeen leaned in closer with no further hint at subtlety, forcing Ovtig to take a step. "The living-angel belongs to Soverain Anilith. Back off."

The angel frowned and looked from one Lilim to the next with no understanding as they spoke. But he squared his shoulders and didn't cower or snivel. Mazikeen felt a stab of pride. The living-angel had backbone to him.

Varun stepped forward, scrutinizing the angel's red hide and ragged wings with a scornful look. "A lot of bother for a creature so underwhelming."

Mazikeen grinned. She knew the words were a bluff. Varun's Soverain wanted the angel for herself just as much as anyone else. She needled her brother. "We of Anilith's Collective are proud The Mother has trusted us to bear the burden of this task."

Varun grunted and stepped closer. "Does it bite? Have claws?"

Mazikeen trusted Varun not to damage the prize, no matter how jealous. "Care to find out?"

Varun smirked back, and Mazikeen stepped aside to give him room. She wondered what the angel would do. He hadn't been violent yet, but this was a good opportunity to test his limits. She wrapped the end of the binding cord around her own wrist, ready to hold him steady if needed.

The angel frowned as the Lilim stepped forward, and glanced toward Mazikeen, but she refused to acknowledge him. Just as Varun reached forward, the angel's wings unfurled in a gust of wind that swirled ash through the air. He stood, wings extended aggressively, legs planted wide.

Varun nearly tripped over himself stumbling backward, and Mazikeen guffawed. "He didn't even have to touch you."

Despite the ridicule, Varun laughed along with her. "I was hoping for claws," he said, and swung his travel bag over his shoulder and started off.

Ovtig regarded it all suspiciously and fell into pace at the rear. That left Mazikeen guiding the angel. She hesitated a moment before touching him, but the wings only twitched and folded up at his back. She tugged his arm. "Come on, time to move." He shook his feet with annoyance at the sandals but stepped forward.

Half a finger's depth of ash later, an unfamiliar Lilim barely older than a whelp approached from the side of the path, Mazikeen recognised her as a Dame by the intense golden color of her eyes. She scurried up beside Mazikeen. Varun had already passed and ignored her. Dames were of the rare fertile ruling-class females; they didn't train as warriors, but even born with an elite status, the youth was little threat away from her collective. Their power lay in manipulation and political maneuvering within the collective spires. Alone, she was less than nothing.

"Go home," Mazikeen growled, expecting the Dame to turn and hurry off.

But the young Lilim stood her ground and placed her hands on her hips with determination. "My name is Izuden, and I want to travel with you."

"We've already got a purpose. Be gone."

Undeterred, the Dame continued following them.

Mazikeen scowled. "Are you an outcast?"

"No! I'm just— I'm from Soverain Vunnalith's collective."

"Vunnalith? I've never heard of her."

The young Lilim reddened and looked away. "We're a small collective on the rift."

"Wasn't that Soverain Geislith's collective?"

"Until someone poisoned her." Izuden kept her gaze averted. "I was birthed by Soverain Geislith, and I was much favored by her."

"What are you doing here?"

She turned back to Mazikeen; her gaze fierce. "I will not serve the Dame who murdered my Soverain by means so cowardly as poison." She spat into the ash. Then she glanced at Varun's trail and her expression turned hungry. "I wanted to travel. Where else would I find the greatest warriors of the realm together to ensure I have a safe journey?"

Mazikeen rolled her eyes at the rapid shifts in mood. It was so typical of the very young Dames. Unlike the whelps who would one day have to earn their keep, the Dames didn't have brattiness beaten out of them from a young age. "So, you're looking for a mate."

"Soverain Vunnalith claimed the one I was interested in as her own," she said, proper Lilim temper creeping into her voice. Then she shrugged, attempting nonchalance, even as she kept her gaze toward Varun. "I wouldn't be averse to finding a replacement."

"Like who? Varun?" Mazikeen laughed. He was the only male of the party, but Mazikeen doubted that he'd lower himself to being taken as a mate by such a low-ranked Dame.

"Do you think he'd be interested?"

She chuckled. "Well, you're the only Dame here." To show the young Lilim exactly who would be in charge, and it certainly wouldn't be a low-ranking Dame with no collective to her name, Mazikeen agreed on one condition. "Fine then, carry my bag, and I'll consider speaking on your behalf." At least the younger Lilim could be useful.

The angel eyed the newcomer warily, and moved to the opposite side of Mazikeen, rather than be caught between.

They fell into a comfortable walking pace. The angel's steps were steady, and though he remained bound, Mazikeen only needed to keep a loose hold of the cord binding him.

Izuden proved to be a decent travel companion, sharing the gossip of her collective in the form of amusing stories.

"...and so Soverain Geislith found the male she'd chosen, naked and bootless and in the middle of the central square, getting ridden by the youngest Dame, and brought them both back to her chambers, and that's where they stayed for the next three ashfalls!"

Mazikeen nearly folded forward laughing. She missed the antics of the lesser collectives where the intrigue and avarice were more entertaining than malicious.

"Do you think your Soverain Anilith might accept a new Dame to her spire this cycle?"

Mazikeen smirked, surprised the young Dame had been willing to hold off the request for so long. "Who am I to say one way or the other?"

"You're esteemed. They chose you to take charge of the living-angel even though you are your own Lilim, because of your great acclaim."

She laughed at the blatant flattery. "I'm not interested in politics."

The angel stumbled and fell to one knee. Mazikeen stopped and waited for him to right himself.

Izuden looked down on him struggling to get back on his feet. "It's weak," she observed.

Mazikeen shrugged. "For now. Have you ever handled beasts?"

"No. Males usually take that burden."

Mazikeen dismissed the thinly veiled disdain in Izuden's tone as she tugged the angel forward. "Beasts have their uses. Anyway, it's his wings that are valuable to us, not his strength."

Izuden lowered her gaze; even one so young and from such a small collective knew of the power in harvested angel feathers.

They made it only a few more steps before the angel stumbled again, landing on his knees on the gravel path. He attempted to stand but only fell again.

"What's wrong with it?"

"I don't think he's used to walking. He needs rest." She left the angel where he knelt and helped the young Lilim with the travel bags, impressed that the youth hadn't complained about the weight of the burden. "Why don't you run ahead and let Varun know we're stopping?"

The sudden grin and renewed energy as the Dame bolted off made Mazikeen chuckle. Varun would be hard-pressed to avoid that one.

"Up you get." She wrapped an arm under the angel's shoulder and helped get him back up. She steered him to the side of the path and let him sit, leaning against a rock. He sighed, stretching out his legs and leaning back, and then started shifting his feet to toe-off his sandals.

"Stop that. Leave them on," Mazikeen said, as she flicked his ankle. He glared at her, and raised his wrists, looked at her, looked at the binding, and then looked at her again.

"Nope, I'm not taking that off you either," she informed him.

"Why do you talk to it?" Ovtig asked, catching up. She sauntered past where the angel was sitting and kicked a dusting of ash at him as she passed.

Mazikeen scowled at the other warrior. "Keep your boot to yourself unless you're ready to lose the foot inside it."

Ovtig laughed. "You should beat it until it no longer looks at us with contempt."

The angel was giving Ovtig obvious stink eye. Fortunately, Varun arrived at that moment with Izuden slinking beside like a feline stalking prey.

Mazikeen busied herself with her waterskin and took a drink before passing it to the angel.

He accepted it; grip awkward with his bound hands.

"Izuden tells me the angel collapsed?" Varun asked.

"He needs a rest, you'd be worse off than this if you spent as long as he did in the fiery lake," Mazikeen teased, and pulled out the folded packet of powdered ooze fungus to toss to the male Lilim.

A collective groan went through the others. Izuden made a face. "Gross. Why the ooze fungus? Don't you have salted meat?"

"This is a waste of time," Ovtig grumbled and stood up, unwinding a thick leather lash made from the tail of a basilisk. "Scalding ooze is for nestlings who haven't sharpened their teeth. I'll be back with fresh meat." She stood and trotted off among the rock outcroppings.

"The porridge is filling and easy on the stomach," Mazikeen explained. "Izuden, there's plenty of dried moss down the ravine for a fire."

Izuden nodded and hopped up to follow the order. Mazikeen waited for her to be out of earshot before turning to Varun. "Any signs of trouble?"

He continued unpacking the cooking supplies for their meal as he gave his report. "I spotted what could be an exile lurking to the south. Possibly a lone hunter. In other circumstances I'd hunt them, find the answer, but… As it is, we must keep a close eye."

Mazikeen agreed. The sport of killing exiles was of low priority compared to transporting the angel to the collective. "I'll check. Watch him for me. Don't let him take the sandals off and don't hit him."

Varun grumbled, but reached over and took the length of binding from Mazikeen when she handed it to him. "If I can't hit it, how am I supposed to make it obey?"

"He understands the word 'no'. Do what you need to if he tries to escape."

Mazikeen ran up the path where Varun had been scouting. She found a vantage point to climb and surveyed the surrounding area. She saw no sign of other Lilim, neither exile nor hunter, but she trusted Varun's assessment. If he said there was a reason to be wary, it was better to heed his warning.

Izuden had returned and Varun had a fire started and a pot of boiling water. The young Dame crouched in front of the angel. Mazikeen paused, regarding the Dame suspiciously.

"Problems?"

"The sounds he makes, have you listened to them?"

"I prefer not to."

"The sounds blend in strange ways."

"So?"

Izuden continued gazing at the angel's face. "It's as if he's trying to say something."

"Beasts don't talk. Varun, I told you not to let him kick his sandals off." Did she have to do everything herself?

"He didn't listen to the verbal command, and you said I couldn't hit him. How was I supposed to make him stop?"

Izuden moved aside as Mazikeen crouched to inspect the angel's feet. How did any adult creature have such tender skin? Even with sandals, blisters and sores covered his soles.

The rough lava stones underneath the ash would shred his feet. How could she make him understand that the foot covering was for his own good? She grabbed his ankle and pushed the sandal back in place. He jerked his leg away.

"No." She grabbed his ankle again, tighter this time.

He pulled away, hard enough to break her hold and started the lilting noises again.

Frustration filled her at his disobedience, doubly so to have the beast defy her in front of Varun and Izuden.

The melodic tones continued, and she pressed her hand over his mouth with enough force to knock his head against the rock behind him. "Shush. No more of that."

The angel slapped her hand away from his face and stomped the ground in frustration. "No! No, shush."

The words were ill formed and strange coming from the beast's mouth, but Mazikeen froze and looked at Izuden. "Did you hear that?"

Izuden nodded, looking dumbstruck. Varun stopped his task of preparing food.

Mazikeen chewed her lip. The angel was just mimicking sound. He couldn't speak. Lilim were alone in that talent.

As if to prove her wrong, the angel repeated himself. "No. Shush."

His eyes were intense and focused. His posture screamed tension. Mazikeen licked her lips, mouth suddenly dry. "Izuden, back away. Quietly."

The young Lilim wisely obeyed.

Mazikeen held the end of the binding cord so tightly her knuckles were white. Only Lilim had the power to speak, lesser creatures made noise, but never deliberate words.

Even the smartest beasts were just beasts. What kind of creatures were angels?

"No, shush," he repeated and drew up his knees and rested his forehead against his bound hands. Exhausted rather than aggressive.

A light tug on the binding drew his attention, and he looked up at her.

Mazikeen took carefully controlled breaths as she leaned forward. She brushed her fingers against his arm. He jerked away from her, but she followed, keeping the contact steady. She needed to regain control of the situation. The tension in his arm eased, but his eyes were full of suspicion.

It was time to offer a truce.

"Drink?" she asked.

He reached out, though his fingers trembled.

She passed him the waterskin. He took it and drank and held it out again to give back. Mazikeen took it from his hand.

"Can you understand me?"

He clenched his fists and swallowed thickly. "M-maysee..."

"My name? Are you trying to say my name? Mazikeen," she said with excitement, and then, one syllable at a time: "Ma-zi-keen." She grabbed his hand and thumped his fist against her chest for emphasis.

He stilled. She repeated herself.

The angel made a grumbling noise, but he tried again. "May-zee-"

"Maz-i-keen." She repeated.

"Maze..." he said and grinned, then he reached out and grabbed her hand and pressed it against his chest and he said...something. Back again with the strange flowing tones, he shook his head a moment and took a breath. "Sa-ma-el."

Was that a word? "Sam-a-el?" she asked.

He squeezed her fingers with excitement and pressed his hands against her. "Maze," he said, and then brought her hand to his chest. "Samael."

"That's your name? Samael?" she asked.

"Samael," he repeated, smiling. He licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak again.

Intent on this new development, Mazikeen didn't see Ovtig return from her hunt until it was too late.

The large Lilim female stood to the side, fuming. "I'll not stand to have that beast violate the Lilim tongue!" Ovtig growled and bashed the back of the angel—Samael's—head, knocking him onto his side.

The angel's eyes flashed with red flame and he rose to his feet and twisted, the force of the movement pulling the binding from Mazikeen's grasp with ease. His wings snapped forward with a gust of air so forceful it slammed Ovtig to the ground.

Ovtig lay where she fell.

Mazikeen snatched the end of the binding cord and yanked, pulling him to the side and off balance. The flames in his eyes grew brighter, and the wings spread wide again.

In one smooth motion, she kicked out with her leg and swept the angel's feet out from under him. He flipped onto his back and she leaned forward with her knee over his sternum. He bucked, dislodging her. She tackled him, knocking him back into the ash, before he could regain his balance. With a flick of her wrist, she trapped his feet with the cord and then pressed her knee into his chest again.

"Stay," she ordered, voice harsh.

He thrashed, trying to unseat her, but she had taken his leverage. The bindings tightened until blood welled on his wrists as he fought against them. Even as she held him pinned to the ground, he looked at Ovtig while making a noisy show of resistance. His eyes lit with flames again. She leaned harder into his chest. "No!"

He turned his glare to her. Mazikeen appreciated his obstinacy, and in any other circumstance, she would nurture and use that temperament to benefit them both. But he'd attacked a fellow Lilim warrior; an offence that couldn't go unpunished.

Ovtig was back on her feet, fuming, her lash in hand, ready to retaliate.

"It attacked me. Let me deal with it!" Ovtig yelled, arm up and ready to use the whip.

Ovtig had the right of vengeance. "You hit him first. It was retaliation," Mazikeen countered.

It didn't absolve the angel's attack, but if she proved her dominance, it might protect him from Ovtig's idea of justice. If he resisted her again, this would not end well.

She yanked him up and twisted. He resisted the handling with his wings, extending them to push her off, but she used his injuries against him. Focusing on his right side where the bone was injured, she grabbed the limb and yanked. He flinched away from the sudden pain and she took advantage of his weakness to loop the binding cord around his wings.

His eyes flamed brighter and his muscles tensed against the cord, but it cinched tighter and Mazikeen kept her grip.

She could not allow Samael to use his wings as a weapon again.

Mazikeen gripped the back of his neck, forcing him down, face-first, into the ash.

Ovtig sauntered toward them, letting her whip drag along the ground until she stood directly over the angel. She made a sound of disgust and snapped the whip against the ground ricocheting ash into the angel's face and his eyes snapped shut. She smirked as she looked down on him. "He is not to look me in the face."

"It is done," Mazikeen agreed.

Ovtig swaggered back to her kill and began butchering it.

Light flared in the angel's eyes; the flame still bright within them. She yanked him upright on his knees and gripped his chin, tilting his head up to look her in the eye. Ash dusted his face, but the fire in his eyes flashed at her defiantly. She stared at him the way she would stare down any beast who dared challenge her.

He did not look away.

Izuden edged closer to Varun, her eyes locked on the drama unfolding, and stumbled over a rock. She squawked, and Varun jumped to catch her. The angel's eyes darted to her. Mazikeen tightened her grip on his chin and said, "No!" He jerked his head and grumbled, but she didn't release him until he stilled, his sides heaving with short, angry breaths.

Izuden simpered behind Mazikeen, no doubt fawning over Varun for maximum appeal.

The angel sagged in her grip, the fire in his eyes fading. His gaze fell, and she understood that just as he was not a beast, this was not the first time someone put him to shame. He knew how to simulate submission, even if it wasn't genuinely felt.

"Stay," she growled again, keeping her voice firm. She could still sense resistance hidden behind his apparent submission. This pride and defiance would not serve him well in Anilith's care. Remaining bound and on his knees while the warriors ate would serve as a needed lesson in humility.

Varun returned to making the porridge as though nothing had happened. Izuden pressed against Varun's back, but stared at the angel, unable to look away. Ovtig settled beside the cooking fire and impaled a rat on a spike to hold over the flame.

Mazikeen set aside the porridge and accepted a hind leg of rat while the angel's food cooled. Only then did she reflect on the connection they'd made before Ovtig interfered.

It may have been mimicry, but he'd said her name, and he had told her his: Samael.

Beasts didn't speak, and beasts don't name themselves.

This was the first living-angel she'd ever encountered. The implications were unsettling.

Mazikeen finished her rat leg. The angel hadn't moved since she'd ordered him to stay. Had that been enough to settle him? She couldn't afford any more incidents along the path.

Varun, Ovtig, and Izuden started a game of riddles. Izuden had pressed herself against Varun's side. Mazikeen shook her head. The silly Dame would mount him right here in the open if he'd let her.

Mazikeen mixed extra water into the porridge, thinning it to a drinkable slurry. She picked up the bowl and returned to the angel's side. He didn't raise his head when she approached, but his eyes still glowed with a low flame. She knelt and wiped the ash off the angel's face. He remained still; his lips pressed tightly together, only flinching when her fingers brushed near his eyes.

Confident that none of the others were listening, she leaned close to the angel.

"Samael?"

His breath stalled, and he glanced up.

Mazikeen nodded. "Eat." She held up the bowl, and he glanced from it to her, and opened his hands where his wrists remained trapped against his chest. She loosened the binding, allowing him to move his arms, though his wrists remained bound. He accepted the bowl, his eyes dimming as he watched her and drank his thinned porridge.

He dared a glance toward the other Lilim, and she caught his chin, facing him back toward her. "No." She cupped her hand at the side of his face, blocking his view of Ovtig. "No," she repeated, and he looked back at her.

He shifted his shoulders, and his wings twitched at his back as the binding held firm. It was fascinating to see the cord shift as he moved, holding him tighter every time he tested it. His eyes grew bright again in a quick flash before calming once more.

As much as she needed him to cooperate, she couldn't help but feel pleased the spark of rebellion was still awake inside him.

Varun cleaned up their temporary rest site. They'd have to get moving again soon if they wanted to get to the next shelter before the winds started. Mazikeen released the binding on the angel's feet, then retrieved his sandals and pulled him up.

After being forced to kneel for so long, the skin on his knees was scraped and raw. She held up the sandal. He hesitated but then raised his foot and placed it where she indicated, allowing her to tie it into place. He wobbled when he lifted his other foot, the bound wings trying to extend for balance, but only causing the binding to compress. Mazikeen grabbed his elbow and held on until he was steady. His expression softened, the angry lines smoothing.

He let her tie the other sandal on without hassle. The rest of the ashfall passed quickly as they fell back into the routine of walking. Bound as he was, the angel had a more difficult time traversing the rough terrain, but Mazikeen walked at his side, a hand on his arm to keep him steady. He kept his head down and made no further attempts at talking.

The wind was just starting to pick up when they reached the shelter.

She led the angel inside and to the innermost corner of the room. His legs were shaking, and he nearly collapsed before she guided him to the floor. The angel had marched without complaint or challenge since the mid-ashfall break, not showing his level of exhaustion on the path. He possessed strength. It was a shame what lay in store for him, and she lamented his intended fate. He squirmed, adjusting his position and grimaced as the confinement of the cord contorted his wings.

She touched his shoulder and took the risk of removing the cord from his wings and wrists. As before, it only took a slight tug to unravel it from his body. She wound it around his wrists, leaving ample slack between his arms.

He sighed with relief, stretching out his arms and groaning as he extended his wings, holding them outstretched for only a moment before drawing them back close to his body.

"Drink," Mazikeen said, and the angel licked his lips. He raised his hand but didn't reach for the waterskin. After a flash of confusion, Mazikeen realized he was blind in the dim light of the cave.

Mazikeen placed the waterskin in his hand, and he brought it to his lips, drinking until he drained the entire skin. This time, when he started kicking off the sandals, she reached for his feet and untied them herself. He curled his toes and then lay down on his side on the bare stone, giving in to the exhaustion.

Ovtig lurched inside and threw her travel bag in the middle of the room. She stretched, took a long drink from her waterskin, and let out a satisfied belch. "Mazikeen, I told you I don't want that monstrous thing looking at me. Get it bound up and keep it under control."

Mazikeen stood up. She stepped over to Ovtig, getting up close, her face a finger's breadth away. "You told me what?"

Ovtig held her ground. Mazikeen didn't expect the warrior to back down like a newly blooded whelp. She looked forward to fighting the slug-sucking moldwarp.

"You agreed to keep that thing under control."

"Has he not been under control?" Mazikeen asked.

"It was being insolent again. Glaring," Ovtig insisted, the confidence in her voice starting to waver.

Mazikeen cocked her head to the side. "He's blind in the dark. How's he supposed to glare at you if he can't even see you?"

Varun and Izuden pushed aside the door flap as they entered, shrugging off their packs and getting settled. They watched the display with detached interest.

Ovtig breathed heavily. "How was I supposed to know that?"

"You can't tell when a beast looks at you? I heard you're the best warrior in your collective." She narrowed her eyes and sniffed. "Maybe you are." She shrugged and turned her back. She half hoped the other Lilim would attack her for the insult.

But she didn't. Varun started a fire. Mazikeen fetched the salve from her bag and returned to the angel's side to assess him. As soon as the fire was lit, the angel blinked in the sudden light, his gaze roaming the room until she caught his chin and faced him away from the others sitting at the fire. For a creature unaccustomed to something as simple as foot coverings, he hadn't done badly on the march.

When he saw the jar of salve, he stretched out his feet toward her, and his cooperation relieved Mazikeen. White blisters stood in vivid contrast with his red hide. Once his feet numbed, she pierced the blisters and applied more salve to seal the open wounds. Then she re-wrapped his feet in the soft piece of skin to keep the ash out on the next march.

He was sleeping by the time Varun had prepared food. What was more important at the moment, letting the angel sleep or getting food into him? Considering how he collapsed as they entered the shelter, Mazikeen let him sleep. Food could wait for the next ashfall. She prepared her own bedroll next to the fire. Izuden and Varun settled into the corner, Izuden finally getting to have her way with the warrior. Even if she didn't get a sprog from it, having coupled with a son of Lilith would raise her standing in the Spire.

Mazikeen woke, a shadow, a footfall; she looked for intruders first. But it wasn't an intruder her eyes caught; it was a figure crouched at the far side of the shelter leaning over the angel.

His wing shifted as he breathed deep in sleep. Silently, Mazikeen sat up and crept closer. Ovtig squatted beside the angel's wing, her hand hovering over the feathers as though contemplating which to choose. Though the wings had suffered damage, not all the valuable feathers were a waste. Rage boiled up inside Mazikeen. How dare the other Lilim plot to remove what rightly belonged to Soverain Anilith?

"Need help?"

Ovtig lurched back. "You startled me. No. I was just checking on him."

Mazikeen nodded. "He's fine."

The commotion caused the angel to stir. Unable to see in the darkness, he sat up and shuffled away from the noise.

Mazikeen stayed where she was until Ovtig backed down, slinking off to return to her bed. Mazikeen placed a hand on the angel's shoulder, and he twitched at the unexpected contact.

"Go back to sleep."

He recognised her voice, and though some tension eased from his shoulders, he stayed upright and guarded, wings fanning forward, tight to his body, to shield his sides.

Leaving him unguarded was not an option anymore. She returned with her bedroll, spreading it out on the floor where the angel had been resting. Mazikeen laid down and patted the mat beside her. He responded to the sound by moving closer and when he reached out and found the bedroll, he climbed onto the softer surface and laid down.

Mazikeen stretched out beside him, placing herself between the other Lilim and the angel. What would he have done if Ovtig had taken a feather? The possibilities of how that could have spiraled out of control left her feeling chilled.

She let her arm drift, resting her hand against the angel's side, and he leaned into it, neither of them acknowledged the contact.

Varun already had the fire going when the winds died down and Mazikeen woke.

She sat up. The angel had shifted in his sleep to lie on his side, his body pressing up against hers. He didn't stir as she wiggled out from his touch.

Varun watched her keenly, and she glowered at him. In response, he smiled and went back to cooking. "It's not like you to be protective of a prisoner," he commented in a low voice.

Mazikeen snorted, but she noticed that he called the angel a prisoner, not a beast. "What do you know of me? We've not hunted together in ages."

He shrugged. "You are the prize warrior of Anilith. Melipath stays informed of those who could be potential allies."

"I'm not Anilith's anything, I'm my own Lilim."

"It wouldn't be terrible to hunt with you again."

"You'd be willing to leave your cozy position as Melipath's favorite male consort?"

Varun cast his eyes downward. "I'm growing weary of a life confined behind stronghold walls. Aren't you?"

Mazikeen glanced briefly at the still sleeping angel. "I never imagined he'd be…"

"Aware? We've both seen beasts exhibit different levels of intelligence in the past."

"Not like this. My warg never talked. It never named itself."

Varun laughed. "And Samael is obviously no warg."

Mazikeen liked the comforts of living in the collective. Certain annoyances were the price of those comforts, but she'd never felt this sliminess inside over any of it. She shifted, looking at Varun instead of the angel. "I wouldn't refuse to hunt with you, either."

Varun heated the ooze porridge from the last meal, and Mazikeen brought it over to where the angel still slept. She patted his shoulder, and he stirred, blinking at her before sitting up. He rubbed his wrists where the binding held him and looked at her pointedly, but she ignored the silent plea. He sagged against the wall, yawning and listless.

"Eat."

He gave her a put-upon sigh, but took the bowl. There were more dramatic noises as he chewed, but she ignored him as she packed.

Experienced Lilim warriors knew how to pack and move with little notice. Izuden was not a warrior, she was a Dame, and so Varun helped her pack while Mazikeen got the angel ready for another ashfall of marching.

This time he didn't resist when she tugged at his ankle. He sighed like the world was about to end, but didn't move as she tied the knots in place. A definite improvement. She patted his leg to show him she approved and pulled him up to his feet. He had the tendency to look toward the fire as he had while they were alone, and she had to turn him around to face the wall to avoid inciting a conflict with Ovtig, but they were ready to move again in good time.

The march started without incident. Mazikeen waited a finger's breadth of ash before she passed the binding cord to Izuden to hold. "Give me a few flakes of ash."

Mazikeen stood in the middle of the path and held her knives ready as she waited for Ovtig to catch up. As the warrior walked closer, Mazikeen took a step forward.

"We're finished."

Ovtig attempted to keep walking. "My assignment—"

"Go home. My assignment is to transport the angel back to Anilith's Collective. You are a threat to that goal."

Still, Ovtig moved to ignore Mazikeen's warning and step around her. Mazikeen stood her ground. "Do you really believe your Soverain will risk a war with the mighty Anilith over one troublesome warrior?"

Ovtig's nostrils flared. "May you die slow and wasteful," she spat, and turned, walking away.

Mazikeen waited until Ovtig walked out of sight, but didn't trust it for a heartbeat. She and Varun would have to be doubly on guard for attacks. She ran to catch up to Izuden.

The angel dipped his head forward, eyes focused on the ground as she neared. Suspicion flared in Mazikeen.

"What did he do?"

Izuden glanced at her, then away. "Nothing."

Mazikeen caught the Lilim's arm and halted her. "Tell me."

She shifted, looked at the angel, and back to Mazikeen. "I got it to say my name."

Mazikeen released the Dame and started walking again. "Okay. Let's hear."

Izuden smiled, "Really?" She poked the angel's arm and sounded out her name.

The angel glanced at Mazikeen, but then he focused back on Izuden.

"Issen."

Izuden giggled. "Iz-u-den," she said again.

"Issiden," he repeated. And Izuden smiled and dug a thistle from her pouch and held it out for him. "Good."

He grinned and gingerly plucked the treat from the youth's hand and ate it.

Mazikeen watched the exchange with amusement. "I wasn't gone that long."

Izuden smiled shyly, "We've got spire lizards out at our collective. They mimic voices all the time. The whelps like to teach them how to curse. You should hear the plateau at the beginning of ashfall when all the lizards come out and begin singing. It's like a gathering of whelps shouting threats at each other."

Mazikeen fell into step beside the young Lilim. "Ovtig has left our procession. If you spot her, inform me or Varun immediately."

"I will," she promised. "Does this mean you want me to guard the rear?"

Mazikeen snorted. "No. You remain here. But keep your attention; if you sense danger don't discount it."

Izuden continued the game she'd been playing before, teaching the angel how to say new words, and it reminded Mazikeen that Izuden was barely older than a whelp.

"Boil Brain," Izuden said, drawing the words out with exaggerated care.

The angel frowned in concentration. "Bol Bain."

Izuden corrected him, "Boy-el bray-n."

And with complete seriousness the angel answered, "Boil brain."

Izuden nodded, "Yes!" And offered him another thistle.

Mazikeen watched with amusement.

"Dizzy-eyed flap-dragon."

The angel worked hard to get the pronunciation right. Izuden just about fell over laughing so hard, the angel seemed just as pleased with himself and repeated the words to Mazikeen.

Mazikeen suppressed a grin and decided to try one as well. "Mewling wag-tail."

He nodded and sounded out the words himself, making a few fumbles, but got it right in record time. "Give me one of those thistles," she said to Izuden, and Izuden passed her one. Mazikeen held it out to him, and he smiled and plucked it out of her hand and popped it in his mouth.

"Maze," the angel said pointing at her. Mazikeen nodded. "Issiden," he said pointing at the younger Lilim. He pointed behind them down the path and made a sour face, "Offsi?"

Mazikeen shook her head. "No," she hummed trying to think up a way to explain. She made a walking figure with her hand. "Ovtig." She flicked it away.

The angel frowned and looked behind them with more alarm. He couldn't mimic her actions with his wrists tied, but he brought his hand up to his throat in a slashing motion and closed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. Then looked at her.

"Oh, no, not dead, just gone." She did her motions again, this time with her hand running away instead of being flicked.

And the angel seemed to understand. Maybe. It was hard to tell.

He pointed ahead on the path. "Vrum?"

Mazikeen snickered. "Vare-run."

He tried again. "Var-run."

"Good." She grabbed another thistle from Izuden and tried to offer it to him; he accepted but held onto it.

Serious now, he brought his hands up to his chest. "Sam-a-el."

He'd told her that already, but that had been before Ovtig attacked him.

"Samael," she repeated.

He sighed with relief and nodded. "Good." And he passed her the thistle. Mazikeen accepted it and popped it in her mouth.


	4. Welcome to Hell: 4 Last Chance

**Welcome to Hell: 4/7 Last Chance**

* * *

At two fingers of ashfall, Mazikeen and Izuden caught up with Varun, who had stopped at the side of the path. He already had a fire going and meat boiling in a pot.

"Don't bother making any for Ovtig," Mazikeen called out as she approached. Varun didn't look up and Mazikeen did not repeat herself. She brought the angel Samael close to the fire, and he sat, heavy with fatigue.

"There's no activity on the trail," Varun reported.

Mazikeen suspected Ovtig would retaliate for the insult of being dismissed. She'd have preferred to deal with Ovtig outright, but killing a rival on a ceremonial trek was a political mess Mazikeen didn't want to entangle herself in.

Samael shut his mouth and cast his eyes to the side. He fidgeted with his sandals, toeing at them.

Mazikeen placed a hand on his ankle. He blew out a short breath but stilled at her touch.

Izuden dropped the travel bags she carried and joined them. "Varun, we taught the angel more words." She tapped Samael on the arm.

"Spongy nutworm."

Samael made eye contact with Mazikeen first. She nodded. He sounded out the words. Izuden had to say it for him once more for him to work it out. He repeated the words and held out his bound hands, palm up, and waited. Izuden rewarded him with a thistle.

Varun grunted, less than impressed. "Whelp insults? Why not something useful?"

Izuden giggled, "It's not like he knows what he's saying."

"Being able to sound out ridiculous whelp calls won't help him." He scooped meat and broth into bowl-shaped shells.

"Help him do what?" Izuden asked.

"Nothing. He's intended to be harvested for feathers," Mazikeen interjected.

Izuden glanced at the angel with more interest. "Do you think he'll grow more?"

"If he does, he'll be a valuable resource."

Izuden stared, transfixed by the angel's battered wings, so much so that Samael twitched and drew them up close against his back.

Varun's disapproval didn't lessen Izuden's fun, and the young Dame continued her game. She resumed, "Fawning clay-brained harpie."

Mazikeen considered unbinding Samael's wrists. He'd been able to function with them bound so far, but she didn't see the benefit of keeping him that way if she didn't need to. She didn't have to unbind both wrists, and if he tried to cause problems she could always bind him again.

The word he sounded out was nothing like the one Izuden had given him, and the young Dame repeated it again, slow and clear.

"Fan-nin-lay-" he started, stringing the words together, but faltered as Mazikeen reached over and tugged at the cord wound around his wrist. There were indentations on his skin where it had dug in, and he rubbed at the free skin with his other hand. He smiled at Mazikeen, stretched his arms, and rolled his shoulders with obvious relief.

Izuden clapped her hands to draw the angel's attention back to her. "No," she scolded. "Fawn-ing clay-brained harpy."

With utmost seriousness, Samael went back to his task of sounding out silly Lilim curses. "Fonning. Clay. Brained—"

While Izuden was occupied with Samael, Varun patted the spot beside him, inviting Mazikeen to sit closer for a moment. She saw no harm in it, and joined him at his side. "What? Is this about the outcasts you spotted earlier?" she whispered.

"No. Like I said, the trail was clear. This is about your angel."

"He's not mine."

Varun shrugged. "He'd be better off if he was. Samael is more like us than any beast I've ever come across."

"We have a duty."

He reached over and placed the bowls in a line to start dishing out the stew. "And I'm just a male. What does my opinion matter, right?"

"I've always regarded you as my equal," she protested, but then Mazikeen froze, her gut sinking at the truth of Varun's words. "I never ordered you to serve us."

"It's custom for males to prepare meals and serve, and I'm the only male of our party. That's just the way things are, isn't it? I'm not complaining." He tasted the stew briefly and then took a pouch from his preserves bag and pinched some more spicy smelling dried fungus into the pot before dishing it out into the bowls. He passed them out.

Mazikeen went back to sit beside Samael as he continued trying to sound out Lilim syllables. He accepted the bowl and brought it up to his lips right away. One sip was all it took to set him gagging. He spat beside him into the dust, hunched over. Mazikeen glared at Varun and grabbed the bowl, trying it herself, worried about poison.

There was nothing wrong with it. Was this a ruse? Was the angel trying to distract them to make an escape?

She thrust the bowl at him. "Eat."

He held his mouth shut and shook his head, no. She pushed it at Samael again, and he gagged and pulled away.

This was the thanks she got for protecting him from Ovtig and unbinding one of his wrists? The ungrateful, obstinate… She pushed the bowl back toward him yet again. "Eat," she growled, letting her voice sink deep and threatening.

Samael continued to refuse. He pushed his arm in front of her and pinched his skin between two fingers, reached over and pinched her skin, and pointed at the bowl. "No."

"It's not Lilim in the bowl," she exclaimed with exasperation. Did he think Lilim ate other Lilim? "It's a cliff rat." She dug out a dried hunk of rat leg from Varun's travel bag and held it up. "Good. Eat." She bit off a chunk for good measure and ignored Varun's dismayed glare as she shoved it back in his bag.

But the angel looked at her like she'd bitten into a newborn Lilim sprog.

"Varun, make more of the ooze. I don't know what's wrong with him, but he has to eat something."

Varun put more water over the fire to boil. "More for the rest of us." .

"Drink?" Mazikeen offered, and Samael held out his hand for the waterskin. He drank, spat again, and drank more before handing it back to her.

To ease the tension, Mazikeen was about to continue Izuden's game, but Varun spoke first.

"One."

The angel looked up. Varun held up his hand and lifted one finger.

"One," Varun repeated.

Samael nodded, and mimicked the action, holding up one finger. "One."

"Good," Varun answered. He mixed the powder into the water and looked back to Samael. He lifted another finger. "Two."

The angel followed suit.

"He's copying you," Izuden laughed, but Varun followed his pattern to five.

Varun mixed the ooze in the bowl, letting the water turn it into a lumpy gel, and held it back. He showed the angel one finger, but said nothing.

Samael rolled his eyes. "One."

Varun held up four fingers.

"Four," Samael answered, and held out his hand for the bowl of food.

Varun led him through more random sequences, and the angel got the number right each time, looking more and more annoyed at the exercise as Varun continued withholding the food.

Mazikeen grabbed the bowl and passed it to Samael herself. "Good," she told him and glared at Varun. "What are you trying to prove?"

"He remembers the numbers, Mazikeen."

"Kind of hard to miss that. He has a good memory."

"He understands more than you're willing to admit."

"And your point?"

"You know what they'll do to him."

"And what? I should hand him over to you and Melipath because he'd be treated so much better in the care of your collective? I don't think so." She thew up her hands. "It has nothing to do with me. They charged me with bringing him back. That's what I'm doing."

"What if you didn't?"

Samael watched them as he ate, and Mazikeen felt uneasy discussing his fate in front of him. The angel finished and passed the bowl back to Varun.

"Are you thinking of letting him go?" Izuden asked.

Both Mazikeen and Varun looked away. "No," Mazikeen insisted.

Samael tried to catch Varun's attention, he held up one hand and one finger and waited. When Varun didn't respond he persisted. "Five." Samael held up five fingers, and then held up one finger from his other hand again.

"Six." Mazikeen supplied and held up her own hands, going through the numbers up to ten. This wasn't good. It wasn't good that the angel understood concepts and wanted to learn more. Why couldn't he have just been a beast, mindless and predictable?

She left the cord binding on his one wrist when they resumed walking. Samael took longer getting to his feet this time, limping as they got started. It would do them no good if his feet became so damaged he could no longer walk.

Izuden trotted along at their side. She told another story about her home collective, this time a tale about an umberhulk that dug its way up into the lower levels of the Spire and set the nest-minders into a panic. The story concluded with the spawn ganging up together and beating the umberhulk to death with spank sticks. Mazikeen laughed but didn't believe a word of it.

With the story complete Izuden tried to start her game with Samael again, but Mazikeen stopped her. "Don't encourage him."

"But you did."

"I shouldn't have. You may show mercy to gain a captive's cooperation, but never empathize with them."

Izuden nodded and hurried her pace to walk several feet ahead when Samael looked over at her.

Mazikeen sighed and continued at the angel's side. He tried speaking in Lilim, listing numbers and repeating badly pronounced insults, but Mazikeen refused to respond.

The ash grew thick, and Samael started walking faster, his wings twitching as he surveyed the surrounding path dropped off into a ravine to the left, and tall cliffs lined the right. As they walked, he began moving his wings, flexing and extending them with nervous tension. Was he plotting an escape? Mazikeen tightened her grip on the binding cord.

"Maze," Samael said in a low voice, pointedly looking upwards.

A dusting of misplaced ash floated down the rock-face and drew her attention above, alerting just in time to a disturbance on top of the cliff to their right. Her main concern was protecting the angel, she dropped her hold on the binding and pushed him toward a depression in the rockface.

The first rock smashed on the trail, only missing her by a handsbreadth.

Two hooded and masked Lilim crested the ravine, their swords ready. Mazikeen grinned, gripping her knives.

From above, another boulder fell with a deafening blow; dust and pebbles struck her legs.

The enemy Lilim flanked her, but Mazikeen spun, fending off the attack from both sides while slashing her opponent's ribs.

The next boulder forced Mazikeen back, stumbling at the edge of the path near the drop-off. A hand gripped her wrist and pulled her to the safety of solid ground. Samael. Mazikeen cursed, he shouldn't be in the fray, she needed to protect him. But as she was about to push him back into relative safety, he moved forward with unexpected dexterity. As the enemy attacked, he lunged forward, moving fluidly and redirecting the thrust of the sword with a swipe of his arm. He flipped the warrior onto her back and knelt at her side, keeping her pinned to the ground as she struggled against his superior strength.

Mazikeen stood over him, protecting his back and staving off the second attacker with her knife. She kicked the Lilim's knee and slashed her blade across the other female's neck. Mazikeen trusted that Izuden had the sense to run toward Varun's forward scouting position, and not back into this fray.

Samael continued to pin the Lilim he defeated, and she took the opportunity to slit that one's throat as well. Samael recoiled as fresh hot blood burst forth from his prisoner's flesh.

There was barely enough time to yank him out of the way as another boulder smashed against the path where they'd been just moments ago. Dust and ash filled the air. This one had been large enough to crush a body. Idiots. She assumed the attack was an attempt to steal the angel for themselves, and yet they were risking the very thing they wished to claim.

She grabbed the fallen warriors sword off the ground and thrust the hilt at Samael as yet another boulder crashed beside them, the reverberations rattling in her ears. Too close. The large rock lay, half-covering the fallen enemy warrior's torso and head; the smell of offal tainted the air, and dark viscous fluid oozed out from beneath.

The enemy up on the cliff needed to be stopped, but she doubted Samael was capable of such a steep climb.

"Stay." With a forceful shove, she pushed Samael back into the depression of the cliff. He'd be protected from debris there. Where were Varun and Izuden? She couldn't defend the angel from all sides on her own. If more enemies came at least Samael had a sword.

The falling rocks were the primary threat at the moment. Samael grimaced at her, but said nothing as she ran off.

Mazikeen raced up the cliff. One Lilim confronted her with a bone club augmented with metal spikes.

Mazikeen fought him. It was no wonder this warrior had been assigned to throw rocks like a coward from above, his combat skills were deplorable. It didn't take much to overpower him and with a kick to his chest, send him toppling from the very cliff he'd been hurling rocks from. The body landed on the path below with a satisfying thump, and stilled.

She was still looking over the edge when Samael emerged from his hiding spot and looked up at her.

Another Lilim crested the ravine. She'd recognize her enemy anywhere. Ovtig. Samael turned as he, too, became aware of his enemy climbing up onto the path. He raised the blade and faced her head-on.

Mazikeen had to get down there.

She spared a glance down the trail. Where were Varun and Izuden? Varun would never allow a group of motherless renegades to take him down.

Ovtig flicked her whip, the crack it made as it flew echoed against the rocks, but the angel showed no fear. He advanced, wings outspread. Despite their damage, the feathers began to glow with intense light.

The whip lashed outward, and Samael blocked with his sword to avoid the worst of the intended damage, but the end of the cord licked against his shoulder. The clothes Mazikeen had made for him split where the whip slashed, but he only reacted with a slight flinch. Ovtig leaped forward, clawed fingers extended. Samael quickly sidestepped, grabbing the Lilim's arm and using her own momentum as a weapon. She stumbled, falling to the ground.

Mazikeen stopped staring at the fight and scrambled down the cliff to her angel's aid. She missed what happened next. By the time she reached the path below Ovtig was lying in the ash and gravel, bleeding and unconscious, but breathing. The wounds didn't appear to be mortal.

But she wasn't concerned with Ovtig at the moment. Was the angel all right? Was he damaged? He stood several feet away, the sword he'd held before discarded on the ground.

Samael was staring fixedly at the above, his body illuminated against the backdrop of dark gray void sloping down the ravine beyond him. Splashes of dark red marred the pristine white glow of the undamaged feathers. He flexed his wings forcefully, stirring up a whirlwind of ash, but the right wing faltered, fluttering in pain for a moment before retracting and folding tightly against his back.

Varun and Izuden rounded the bend and froze. They peered at the angel standing unbound on scarred earth, their fallen foes scattered among them.

Mazikeen glared at Samael as she quickly checked him for injuries. There was some swelling at the shoulder where the whip had torn his clothes, but nothing more significant than that. What was he still doing here? So what if he couldn't fly. He should have run. Her reputation would be in ruins, but...didn't he know what they were planning to do to him?

No, of course he didn't. What motivation would he have for escaping now? He was from the above. How long would he survive on his own? Even he had to know how ill-adapted to this realm he was.

But what could she do? Her own duty was clear; bring Samael to Anilith. To do otherwise at this point would mean exile.

Gravel crunched under Varun's feet as he joined her. His breastplate sported a new gouge and blood trickled from a gash on his upper arm.

"Took you long enough. Did they fight well?" Mazikeen asked.

He grunted and ignored the dig. "They all bear Regulith's crest; defying tradition and breaking the sacred Mother's Journey like this will infuriate the other collectives," Varun said grimly.

Mazikeen agreed. "Regulith is an upstart. She's been a problem since she started gaining power._ Idiot_."

Varun sighed and nodded. Disappointing as it was, this was a political matter now and out of their hands. He looked over at Samael. "The angel fought by your side?"

"Yes. He wields a sword like a warrior."

Varun smirked and stepped to Ovtig's side, examining her. "He doesn't kill like one," he said. "She's still alive." He thrust his sword down into her chest, drawing forth a gasping hiss from the enemy Lilim as she died.

Varun carefully wiped off his blade and turned to Mazikeen. "Did the angel attempt to escape?"

"No."

Varun sighed. "Too bad. Do we carry on?"

Mazikeen nodded. "We have to."

They took care of the bodies, stripping them of weapons and valuables. The female warrior that Mazikeen had felled was the same stature as Izuden, and so they claimed the armor for the young Dame to protect her on the rest of the journey.

Samael watched it all, his eyes drifting to the dead Lilim scattered around them.

It would not take long for the sounds of fighting and the smell of blood to draw beasts. Already Mazikeen saw a flying gutrender circling above, gliding on its great leathery wings. She tapped Samael's shoulder and pointed at the flying beast. He reached for the sword he'd dropped, but Mazikeen grasped his hand and tugged him forward.

Not far down the path, there were two more Lilim corpses bearing the sigil of Regolith. There could be no doubt that this was a planned attack. Dread coiled tight in Mazikeen's gut. Soverain Regulith and her collective would pay for this betrayal, and that didn't bode well for anyone.

Mazikeen carved the crests off the armor of each warrior as evidence, and they carried on.

"Six," Samael mumbled as they walked.

"Six warriors," Mazikeen confirmed.

He opened his mouth, and closed it, wanting to say something but lacking the words. He pointed at himself.

"Yes. They came for you."

He glanced back again, and his wings twitched. Based on his earlier interactions with Ovtig, she could only imagine what he thought they would have done with him. Mazikeen wondered if what he imagined was any worse than what her own Soverain had planned.

And she was leading him straight to her.

The attack meant it took longer to reach the intended shelter; the winds were already strong by the time they filtered into the safety of the cave. Izuden secured the door flap, binding it, and Varun built a fire so they could make supper.

Samael sat down and leaned forward to undo his sandals. If he wished to be barefoot while in the shelter, she had no issues with that.

Mazikeen passed Samael her waterskin. "Drink."

He drank and gave it back to her. "Good," he said again.

And this time she nodded. "It's good. Yeah."

Izuden helped with unpacking their bedrolls. "Varun is such a good fighter. You should have seen him!" She beamed and glanced at the male longingly. "They never trained me as a warrior. I only know what they taught us in the nest. Do you think Ovtig wanted us dead?"

"Not all of us," Mazikeen assured her. "She'd have taken the angel and you for her Soverain."

Izuden shuddered. "No way. I've met males from Regulith before. Did you know they collect skulls? I heard they have spikes running all along the ridge that bear the rotting heads of their enemies. And Regulith herself has a decorative wall stacked with them in her Spire."

"Those are rumors," Mazikeen scoffed.

But Varun looked up from where he prepared the meal. "It's not a rumor. I've seen it. They collect skulls the way Anilith collects beast claws."

They still had some pieces of dried meat. Varun threw them into a pot to boil into a broth. "Do you think the angel will eat?"

Mazikeen shrugged. "Make more of the porridge."

Varun nodded but set it aside to use only if Samuel refused the hearty stew again.

It would take them one more ashfall to reach the borders of Aniliths collective. Samael's feet were raw and bloody again, but this time she considered not treating them with salve. If he had trouble walking, it would slow them down. For what? For him to plot an escape attempt? For her to think up an alternative plan? There was no alternative plan. The angel belonged to Anilith. Letting the angel suffer wasn't a solution. She fetched the salve from her travel bag and sat across from Samael.

With the light of the cooking fire allowing his eyes to focus, Samael recognized the medicinal salve. After a disgusted look at his skin, he stretched his leg out for her, willing to cooperate. She wiped the damaged area first with moss and water and spread the salve. He sighed with relief as the numbing effect took hold.

Next, she checked his arm where he'd deflected Ovtig's whip. It was difficult to discern on his red and scarred skin what was a wound and what was not. There was no bleeding. She held up the salve and pointed at his arm, and he shook his head, no.

Mazikeen reached into her bag for a needle and string to repair the rip Ovtig's whip made in Samael's chiton. The pin still held the long hide in place, but the rip almost severed the fastening. She'd have to remove the garment so she could stitch it. She unpinned the shoulder and started untying the belt. He caught her hand his expression alarmed.

Was he worried about being unclothed? But then, she saw how he looked at his arms. Thinking about it now, there'd been multiple times she'd noticed him frowning at his own skin, clearly disturbed by the ruin of his scarred flesh. Instead of taking the chiton, she reached over and pulled a large thin blanket from her travel bag and held it out in trade.

He accepted the blanket and let her take the damaged chiton, covering himself quickly with the thin fabric. She set about repairing the piece of clothing quickly and handed it back. He pinned and tied it into place, not with ease, but he managed on his own. He learned quickly.

He patted her shoulder. "Good."

No. It wasn't good. Nothing about this was _good_.

She felt sick knowing the fate she was delivering him to; being kept alive as a resource to supply the divinity they all craved. All of it was out of her control, she had a task to do and she would do it. But, what if something unexpected happened? It wouldn't be her fault if her captive overpowered her and flew away, for example. The damage to her reputation would be forgotten eventually. She pointed at his back and linked her thumbs and made a waving motion with her fingers, trying to copy what flying would look like.

He frowned and extended his wings, making a similar motion.

No, he didn't understand. She tried again, this time moving her hands up and away as she flapped her fingers.

"No," he said, and made the same hand motion, only instead of moving his hands up and away, he let them flop onto his lap.

So, no flying. She drummed her fingers on her lap a moment, thinking.

"Food is ready," Varun called, interrupting her train of thought. He filled four bowls with meat broth and passed two to Mazikeen.

She passed one to Samael. "Eat."

He held it for only a moment, smelled it and made a face. He handed it back.

Mazikeen didn't accept, she pushed it toward him again.

Again he pushed it toward her. "No," he said again, his voice more firm. He sighed and placed the bowl on the ground. He pointed at the rat tail Izuden was roasting over the fire. "No."

"Meat?" she asked and turned back to Varun. "I think he's trying to say he doesn't like meat."

Varun laughed. "What kind of creature did you say he is?"

Mazikeen laughed. "Maybe there aren't beasts where he comes from?"

Izuden bit off the end of her snack. "How does he survive?"

Mazikeen shrugged. "Make the porridge. At least we know he likes that."

Samael sighed with relief when she took the bowl away. She pointed toward Varun and the powdered scorched ooze he was mixing. "Good?"

Samael smiled and nodded. "Good." He agreed.

The least she could do in the time left was feed him something he liked.

"Is it okay if I do words with him again?" Izuden asked later while Varun was cleaning up the supper supplies.

Mazikeen nodded. "Don't get attached."

Izuden grinned and scooted closer, eager to have Samael start repeating after her.

Izuden giggled. "Spongey bat-fowling minnow."

Samael leaned forward, mimicking, and when the words came out half right in his strange melodic accent, even Mazikeen couldn't help but laugh.

"I've enjoyed traveling with you again." Varun smiled at Mazikeen.

"Like old times. But without the starving and threat of constant attack," she teased.

"It wasn't all bad back then."

"I've been growing tired of life behind stronghold walls, as well," Mazikeen admitted. "It could be good to go back to simpler times, before collectives, and self-proclaimed Soverains."

Varun grinned. "I knew you couldn't be happy living a life of ease."

Mazikeen snorted. "Ease and rules. Rituals and customs. Separating Lilim based on beast traits and symmetry. Does Melipath's collective have a throwback quarter?"

Varun shrugged. "Most collectives do." The Soverains always preferred the company of those with softer features, who remind them of Mother's uncorrupted beauty. It was the way of things. The throwbacks remind the elite too much of our beast origins to ever be favored.

Off to the side, Samael giggled. The sound, innocent and pure, cut through Izuden's cackles. Between laughs, she gasped out, "No, no, no! It's lumpish gut-gripper."

Varun looked from Samael back to Mazikeen. "He's not Lilim. What hope is there for him when they banish our own spawn to the slums to be used as labor or war fodder?"

Mazikeen had no answer for that.

They fell into contemplative silence as they watched Izuden and Samael continue their game. Varun joined in and taught Samael new words like fire, sword, wing, and bag, things they had on hand he could point to and identify. It wasn't like the mimicking for fun that Izuden did; these were useful words. It wasn't a bad idea. But she didn't think it would change anything.

Mazikeen nudged Varun's shoulder. "You should let him rest, we've still got a long way to go before we reach the border next ashfall."

Varun nodded and retreated to his bedroll, as did Izuden. They had their bedrolls spread together close to the fire pit. If the young Dame didn't get a sprog from Varun, it wouldn't be for lack of trying.

Mazikeen lit a candle close to Samael, remembering that he couldn't see in the full darkness, and set out her bedroll. She hadn't tied him to anything this time, but she kept the cord close to her hand, within reach. She stretched out and patted the space beside her. Samael joined her and scrunched up close so they'd both have room to lay. He turned on his side facing her and patted her shoulder, "Good Maze."

Mazikeen put her finger to his mouth. "Shush," she said and watched him nod and close his eyes, succumbing to exhaustion.

...

Mazikeen woke first. By the sound of the door flap buckling in the wind, it was still too soon to venture outside, so she busied herself with packing. Unless something happened, they'd reach the border of her collective by the next wind. After that, it was a short walk to the gates.

Varun woke next, then Samael, and Izuden. They ate—yet more of the scorched ooze for Samael—drank, and packed.

Samael didn't even grumble when she tied the sandals to his feet. The four of them had found a routine, the way all cohesive traveling parties do. She made eye contact with Varun, and then looked at the angel, and Varun nodded. He set about distracting Izuden while Mazikeen brought Samael outside.

She removed the binding cord and placed it in her bag. He rubbed his wrist and stared at her.

She put her thumbs together and made the flapping motion. "Go on, use your wings."

With a roll of his shoulders, his wings extended. Ash stirred into the air as he flexed. He looked at Mazikeen again, and then...

She knew something more should have happened, but Samael grunted as the right faltered, bones clicking as he shuddered and tucked it in against his back.

Damn it. Mazikeen paced. The angel could barely walk with sandals; she was lucky he kept up with them. She doubted he had any skills at hiding his trail or surviving on his own. He didn't even eat meat. How would he fend for himself? Abandoning him to starvation and exposure was not mercy.

How long would it take for his wing to heal?

Maybe the other Lilim would see there was more to the angel than what they could harvest from him. If they did, would anything change? Would Anilith care about any of that? He was a resource and was bound to be treated like one.

Varun and Izuden exited the shelter shortly after. Varun looked from Mazikeen to the angel and sighed. It was time to set out.

They were only four, but this near Anilith's territory, the beasts were wary of the sounds of Lilim and avoided their path. Izuden played more of her game with Samael; it was nonsense, but it was fun. "Puny dung-beetle," Izuden said next, and Samael repeated. Through the ashfall, the words he formed grew more distinct as Izuden continued to correct his mispronunciations.

Mazikeen rescued Samael from the young Lilim's endless game and told Izuden to run ahead to check in with Varun. The Dame saw any reason to talk to the male warrior as a good reason.

Pausing, Maze grabbed his hand, needing his full attention. How much did he understand? "Talk to them. Show them you can learn," she urged. "I'll do what I can to help. You're valuable. They won't want to risk damaging you."

She hated knowing he had no clue what she was trying to warn him about.

"Whatever you do, don't fight them. I saw you fight Ovtig; I know you're a warrior," she said and at Ovtig's name he frowned, recognizing it among the unknown words she said. "Don't let them know how strong you are."

He grew impatient with his own lack of understanding, and he pointed at her, and himself, and interlaced his fingers.

"No," she pulled his hands apart. She made two walking figures with her hands, walking them together, and then walking in opposite directions.

He was silent for a moment. "Varun?"

"No."

"Issiden?"

"No."

He sighed. "Ovtig?"

"Ovtig is dead," she said, making a slashing motion with her thumb and sticking out her tongue.

"More Ovtig," he tried.

This time Mazikeen was the one who didn't understand.

He tried again. "Maze, good. Varun, good. Issen, good. Ovtig not." He held out two hands. "Maze, Varun, Issen," he said and looked at his right hand. "Ovtig," he added and looked left. He pointed to the path ahead and held out his hands. "Good? Not good?"

Mazikeen grabbed his left hand and gave it a squeeze. "Not good."

This time he understood.

And yet he didn't escape.

She kept the binding cord off his wrist and gave him plenty of opportunities to make a move.

The closer they got to Anilith's territory, the worse his chances got.

A stone totem in the shape of a snake with a female head and arms like pincers marked the borders of her collective. Mazikeen paused and pointed it out to him.

Samael stared at it, frowning. Whatever interested or disturbed him about the idol also made Mazikeen think perhaps this was the right time. There was one more thing she could try. She took the binding cord out of her pocket and held it up, dangling it in Samael's face.

He took a step away from the cord, wings extending.

Mazikeen held out her hand, even though it was the opposite of what she wanted. She wanted him to run, fight, fly away. Anything rather than deliver him to Anilith.

He looked behind him, at the path they'd taken, and all around the landscape. He flexed his wings again, grimacing as he worked the injured limb. And he tried. Mazikeen felt the rush of air sweep up from the force of his attempt to get off the ground, but the right-wing shuddered and could not sustain any momentum.

He squared his shoulders and tried again. Mazikeen chewed her lip. This was his last chance. He had to...

Varun came running back along the path. He stared at the angel and at Mazikeen. "Anilith's warriors are here to escort us." He watched Samael struggling to get off the ground.

Mazikeen nodded, heart pounding. She could hear the rapid marching steps of warriors down the path from them. Samael heard them too. One last effort, a mighty push of the wings, and he let out a pained gasp and fell to one knee. His wings trembled as he folded them up against his back. It took effort, but he pushed himself up to his feet and stood before her with his back straight and shoulders square. He held out his hands in front of him and stared down the path. He knew his time was up.

Mazikeen bound his wrists just before the other warriors arrived.

"Ovtig?" he asked again, looking down the path as the first Lilim came into sight.

She nodded. "Ovtig."

He took a deep breath and bowed his head, playing the role of the subdued captive.

She sighed with relief when the squad of ten Lilim stopped to stare but did not interfere.

"Is that the living-angel?"

Mazikeen rolled her eyes, and one of the warriors slapped the head of the male who had asked the question. "No, it's an umberhulk, you fool," the warrior said, and the rest laughed.

"You're not to touch him," Mazikeen ordered.

There was no more talking. Mazikeen insisted on fulfilling her assignment to deliver the angel all the way to the Spire where she handed over his care to the guard waiting there. She would make a case with Anilith for him to be treated well, and she had an ally in Izuden. They would try to protect him.

Samael followed without resistance, but he looked back at her as they pulled him into the massive tower, making eye contact one last time before the heavy iron door clanged shut.


	5. Welcome to Hell: 5 THe Vow

**Welcome to Hell: 5/7 The Vow**

* * *

"Did you hear? The angel is dead."

Mazikeen heard the news the moment she walked back through the gates into Anilith's collective. She pushed aside the anger that welled within her. It was for the best. Three cycles of infant sprogs had turned into toddling spawn since she'd last been home.

The retaliation against Regulith for Ovtig's attempt to steal the angel against Lilith's wishes was swift. In truth, the rival collectives had been waiting for a good excuse to annihilate the upstart Soverain and claim her land.

The battle had begun promising but then deteriorated into a drawn-out siege. Mazikeen was just glad it was over, and she could return to her dome and relax in the commons, showing off her trophies and telling stories of her exploits.

Curious Lilim drowned her with questions. _"How many warriors did you kill?" "What treasures did we win?" "How many Dames and infant sprogs will join our nest?"_

She showed off her collection of daggers she'd taken off the rivals she defeated. Told tales of the fertile caves around the deceased Soverain's stronghold and the giant beasts that could be found there. The procession of male nest minders escorting the newly adopted infant sprogs and young spawn would be arriving soon. No one would be disappointed.

"What is the state of the conflict now?" Question after question flowed from the surrounding crowd. "Why have you returned early?"

She laughed at that one. There was nothing early about it. "A blood-drought was called. The fighting ended."

Now it was up to the Soverains to sort out the politics, or more accurately, the Dame assigned to act on the Soverain's behalf. Squabbling for territory was beneath the dignity of a Soverain, especially when it meant leaving the comfort of their own spires.

It felt good to come home to her own dome. Though the entrance was sealed tight in her absence, thick drifts of ash had collected in the corners. She didn't care. All she wanted was her bedroll; the rest could wait.

It was Traz who woke her from a deep sleep. The warrior slapped her hand against Mazikeen's door flap and shouted her name. The last Mazikeen had seen of Traz had been in the spire with Samael.

Mazikeen grumbled as she got up, but let the Lilim in. Anilith favored Traz now more than ever. It was better not to ignore the warrior outright.

Traz wasted no time on pleasantries. "We require your help with the angel."

"They told me he's dead."

"It is. Get rid of it. Take it away. As the most experienced harvester in our collective—"

"The only harvester," Mazikeen corrected her. She was the only warrior of the collective to find the landing sites first; the only to successfully stash the bodies where no one else would find them. None in Anilith's collective had ever plucked intact feathers, their divinity whole and intact, from the dead angels that fell from above, save her. Others had tried and the fragments they came away with were barely salvageable as dust to use as fungus crops fertilizer. Feathers were too rare and valuable to waste. She would not tolerate this lower Lilim insinuating that status belonged to any save her alone.

"Yes. You have experience with these things. We decided you should have the _honor_ to dispose of it."

Mazikeen snorted. Honor. Right. More like Anilith trying to distance herself from Mother's wrath. And to think she'd been expecting a summons to deliver a field assessment to the Soverain.

"How did he die?" Before joining the assault on Regulith, she'd done what she could to negotiate the angel's living conditions. When she'd left, they had him confined to a secure guest room, free to roam his cell unbound, granted a hearth fire, and allowed his odd preference of non-meat meals. She'd trusted Izuden to handle the details in her absence.

"He stopped breathing."

Mazikeen let out an impatient breath. She'd learn after inspecting the remains.

Anilith had welcomed Izuden into her circle after determining she had gotten a sprog from Varun, and Mazikeen had trusted the young Dame to speak on the angel's behalf. While away, she imagined the Dame continuing her game of teaching Samael Lilim words, useful ones rather than whelp curses, and Mazikeen had even dared to hope that when she returned, they'd be able to have a proper conversation.

"How long has he been dead?"

"Long enough for the last brood of sprog to grow into toddling spawn. Mazikeen, the creature is an abomination. The remains are warm and uncorrupted. There's no hint of decay. Moss grows thick around it, and the air is unnaturally pure."

"That's how they all are." She would not harvest from his body, not even if his wings were fully recovered with unharvested feathers. He had a warrior's heart and she could at least give him a warrior's rest. She'd place him near the female she had hidden hundreds of cycles ago. It seemed right to reunite him with his kind again, even if only in death.

Mazikeen sighed. "Take me to him."

"Follow me."

It was a not-so-subtle insult. Rather than follow, Mazikeen strode beside Traz as she led the way to the central spire, falling behind only after entering and beginning their descent into the dungeon caverns below. The passageways inside narrowed the deeper underground they went. The cave system under the spire went so deep that even Lilim needed to light a torch to see.

"This is where you stored the corpse?"

"The beast did not regenerate its feathers. This is where worthless things belong."

"He wasn't dead yet when you brought him down here?"

"Does it matter?"

The tunnel altered the further they went, but not in the way these networks normally did. Life sprouted from crevices in the rock. Moss, the likes of which Mazikeen had only seen at harvest sites, grew rich and dense as they continued, culminating around one door in particular.

A heavy iron bar held the door in place. From the growth attached to the frame and lock bar, it had been a long time since anyone ventured inside. After clearing away the dense vegetation, it took both their strength to lift the iron bar on the door and pry it open.

Traz held the torch aloft, illuminating a cell covered—walls, floor, and ceiling—in brightly colored and patterned mosses and fungi. This was more extensive than anything she'd ever witnessed at a harvest site. Inside, the angel lay curled on his side with his eyes closed and mouth gagged. His skin remained as she'd last seen it, pitted and scarred, but now there were dark patches, bruises, and lacerations she didn't recall being there before. The wings were ravaged, entirely bare of feathers. The divine cord bound his wings to his back, and his wrists were hobbled tight to his ankles.

Mazikeen could only stand and stare. "How did it come to this? Why is he bound like that?"

"The guards bound it after it tried to escape, they feared it would make another attempt."

Mazikeen grit her teeth. "I suppose you succeeded in that. A dead angel never escapes."

"Aren't you going to examine it? You being the_ expert_ and all."

Dead angels rested in an unchangeable state. Mazikeen felt sick in her chest that Samael would follow that pattern and stay eternally bruised and broken.

"What happened to his wings?"

"Harvested. Soverain ordered it."

"And then?"

"The feathers never grew back. It was all just useless narrow spines. No matter how many times we removed them, that's all it produced. After we brought it down here even those didn't sprout."

"Why bother gagging him?"

Traz's expression turned vicious. "The way it mimicked Lilim speech was offensive. Before it stilled, it cried out your name, as if it only needed to beg properly for us to bring you to him. _Maze, Maze_. I don't think it ever caught on that you weren't coming back."

Mazikeen lunged at Traz, slamming her against the wall. She snarled, her teeth only a breath away from the Lilim's throat. "I'm here now."

Traz whimpered and Mazikeen set her free.

Traz backed away and her fingers flexed over her blade handles, but Mazikeen knew the Lilim was too weak-minded to follow through. Anilith favored Traz for her simpering praise and compliments, not her boldness. Mazikeen ignored the fellow warrior and crouched beside the trussed-up body and rested her hand on his wrist. His skin was cool, not much warmer than the stone beneath him. The perfectly preserved angels she harvested were warmer, more lifelike.

But then she felt it…a flutter of something under her fingers. Just once. She held her fingers in place, and she felt it again.

She put her hand in front of his mouth but felt nothing.

"It's dead. Do you think us stupid? We—"

"Yes."

Traz fumed as she finished her sentence. "—tried that already!"

She pressed her fingers to his throat. No movement yet, but she waited. She knew what she'd felt.

Some beasts had a life force that was more difficult to discern than others. There. Another flicker under her fingers. This seemed more akin to cold-sleeping cave trolls than to actual death.

Mazikeen stood up. She considered keeping the knowledge that he still lived to herself. They gave her the right to dispose of the body, no one would know. She could secret him away, keep him for herself. But then, she'd be as good as exiled, the angel's existence a necessary secret.

But maybe she could negotiate to keep the angel for herself. Anilith no longer valued him.

Traz leaned in to inspect what Mazikeen found so interesting. "What? Is something wrong with it?"

"He's not dead."

Traz grimaced and stepped back. "Impossible. It lacked response, it didn't breathe. It has not moved or drank or slept since we secured the door. Nothing could survive that."

"The fire in him has dimmed to embers, but blood still moves," she snarled, wanting to wrap her fingers around the useless warrior's throat, but she needed this fool alive.

"What do we do?" Traz asked, eyeing the body on the ground.

"I claim him for myself. Inform Anilith I'll take charge of the living-angel."

"That is the Soverain's choice, not yours to demand," Traz growled, and her hand drifted yet again to the handle of her blade.

Mazikeen stood her ground. Only a weakling needed to resort to such threats. "Anilith knows that I am Elder to her, a fellow daughter of Lilith. I follow the order of Anilith because I choose to. Go. Speak to the Soverain. Return with supplies for healing."

"Don't order me around like a whelp." Traz's tone turned plaintive, and Mazikeen knew then that she had won.

"Get the seal of Anilith. She announces it to the entire collective or I walk away."

Traz bowed her head and scurried out.

He was alive. Mazikeen smiled viciously, baring her teeth. She would win this. Samael would be hers before the winds blew. With patience, she believed she could save him. She had considered Mother's words of prophesy many times while she'd been away. The living-angel was worth far more than a renewable feather-harvest, and no one else could see it.

As soon as Traz's footsteps faded, Mazikeen crouched next to the angel again. "Samael, I will unbind you." She waited a moment before proceeding.

Mazikeen knelt beside the still figure and tried to work the gag loose, but the knot was too tight. She used her blade to cut it off. His mouth closed, but he made no voluntary movement. Next, she unwound the binding from his limbs and tucked the cord away in her pouch.

The bindings hadn't dug into his flesh as they had in the lake of fire. Did that mean he hadn't struggled? Had they beaten the fight out of him before binding his limbs? She ran soothing hands along his arms and legs and tried to adjust him into a more comfortable position. His joints resisted the movement, but she persisted until she had him laying stretched out on his side. His chest moved, rewarding her efforts.

He had no open wounds, but there were many marks on his damaged skin that had not been there before. She burned with fury as she examined the scars and injuries.

Mazikeen tried stretching Samael's wings, but they were stiffer than his limbs, barely moving at all before the joints froze. She stopped. His breathing started to grow more regular, shallow breaths becoming deeper and more frequent.

They claimed he'd been like this for longer than a sprog cycle. How had he lived without sustenance or breath for so long?

His temperature was still icy. A roaring fire, warm food and drink, and blankets would help wake him up, but for now, she unclasped her large, loose, outer cloak and draped it around him. She would not parade him through the city, naked like a captive.

Traz's continued absence grated on her nerves. Anilith discarded the angel as useless. What benefit would there be in denying Mazikeen's claim?

Samael's eyes drifted open. They were dull, unfocused, unmoving. The cell was lit with a single torch, and she wondered how much he could see. Did he recognize her?

"Samael." She controlled her voice to the softest of tones.

His mouth moved, and she saw his throat work to swallow.

"Samael, it's Mazikeen. You'll be mine soon."

His throat worked again, but his eyes never moved. Before she could say more, she heard footsteps.

Traz stomped into the room. "Soverain Anilith wishes to speak with you, herself." Another young female warrior trailed behind her, and Traz ordered her to guard the entrance in their absence.

Mazikeen strode to the new guard, sizing her up. The young one licked her lips and turned her face away. Mazikeen smiled, showing her teeth. She stood very near, within easy range to rip her throat out if she chose. She looked across the young warrior to Traz. "I'm sure she will guard him well from the doorway."

The guard stumbled in her haste to retreat. She stood just enough to the side to allow Traz and Mazikeen to pass, her face set on the opposite wall of the corridor. Traz snorted her displeasure at the submissive display and marched out.

A whisper from Samael stopped Mazikeen. "_Stay_."

She closed her eyes and steeled herself against acknowledging the plea. First, she must fight for him. The guard helped put the heavy bar back across the door. It took two Lilim to lift it. Samael was as safe as she could make him for the moment.

Traz and Mazikeen trudged back up the winding complicated caverns that made up the pit underneath the Spire. The air grew warmer the closer they came to the surface, and Mazikeen let out a sigh of relief to be out of the oppressive confinement below. They continued to climb. The walls here were ornately carved in patterns and battle scenes, laying out a story of victory that you couldn't help but watch play out as you made your way up. The stairs became steeper and more narrow the higher they went, both a tool of security and to make the visitor feel small and tired when they finally made it up to the throne room.

The Soverain smiled down at her. "Mazikeen, I am pleased to see you back from the siege."

"It is good to be back in the collective." Mazikeen ground her teeth, but she showed proper respect. With luck, there wouldn't be any more useless talk, but she knew well enough not to lead the conversation with Anilith.

"Do I understand correctly that the angel is not dead?"

"Yes, Soverain. Traz informed me that in exchange for disposing of the body, you granted me whatever harvest I could glean from it." Which would have been nothing, but that was beside the point.

"And now you wish guardianship? Dead or alive, the angel is mine. I do not see the benefit to me."

"With your permission, I will take responsibility for him."

"I have handlers who can do that."

"Your handlers are the ones who nearly killed him."

The Soverain was silent and Mazikeen worried she had overstepped. Anilith watched Mazikeen with narrowed eyes, her stare so piercing that any lesser Lilim would have been quelled into a submissive, sniveling mess. Mazikeen did not waver. She was already a warrior when Anilith was nothing more than a scrawny spawn foraging on the edge of ancient ruins. As a young Dame, Anilith collected males vying for her favor, birthing her sprogs in a colony even less powerful than the collective Izuden had abandoned. But Anilith was smart and cunning and patient. She had taken the scraps afforded to her by Lilith and risen to become a power second only to their Mother.

Mazikeen stood tall and proud, head high, her eyes meeting Anilith's. She was elder and master of herself. It had always rankled Anilith that she could not intimidate her elder siblings even with all the power she amassed. A wicked smile spread across Anilith's face. She had decided her course.

She began in a conciliatory tone. "It is true you had a way with the beast that my handlers did not replicate." She stood and prowled toward Mazikeen with deadly grace. "The living-angel is entrusted to my collective. Mine, Mazikeen."

She paused for the implication to settle into a lead weight in Mazikeen's stomach.

"As you are not fully part of my collective, it will violate Mother's terms to allow you custody of the beast. I will grant you guardianship on one condition. You vow your service to me and my collective."

So, that was what Anilith wanted. Mazikeen's fealty for Samael. The image of him bound and gagged, starved, beaten, and plucked flashed before her eyes. Was saving the angel worth sacrificing her autonomy? She didn't like the hollow feeling in her chest when she considered backing down. There was everything to lose, but what could she stand to gain? A living-angel under her command... She'd seen hints of his strength, but the extent of his Power remained unknown.

Mazikeen narrowed her eyes and stood taller, puffing her chest out. "I'm not yours to command. I choose to serve you and your collective."

"If you want the angel, you will make the vow." Anilith's voice had layers of harmonics and Power in it. It was glamor magic. Mazikeen hadn't realized that Anilith knew enough of it to compel with her voice. As a true daughter of Lilith, Mazikeen was familiar with the practice but rarely wielded the talent herself. The magic was too weak to sway Mazikeen, but her own spawn? Anilith could hold any of them in thrall.

Mazikeen growled low in her throat but kept her voice calm. She must be careful in this, there was everything to lose. It wasn't too late to back out. She could leave the angel where he was, now that Soverain Anilith knew he was still alive, she would send for handlers to deal with him. He would be revived and looked after. Wouldn't he?

No. He'd been alive when they threw him down there. There were still no feathers; that was all they'd wanted from him.

There could still be Power in him, though. If there was, she'd find it. She'd wield it as her own.

The details were important when dealing with a Soverain. "If I make this vow, the living-angel will be mine in entirety. Every part of him will be mine to do with as I please. His loyalty will be to me alone. I will have full claim to the recompense of property if he is damaged or stolen by any other, and no part of him or his care can be demanded of me."

"And your full service in all other matters will be mine." Anilith's grin was full of teeth. Mazikeen had expected a greater protest over her terms. Anilith must be very sure that Samael would never be worth anything to her. She took a step forward and said, her voice brimming with Power, "Will you make the vow?"

Mazikeen worded her offer with care. "I pledge my allegiance to you and your collective so long as the angel lives and is in my custody. I will serve your commands, except for the care and control of the angel."

"I will accept that pledge. Do you offer it?" Anilith was far too eager to set Mazikeen's mind at ease, but she had decided.

"I do." Mazikeen knelt, her back straight, but her head bowed and her hands lax at her side, showing submission to her sister for the first time. "You have my vow."

Anilith circled Mazikeen then stopped in front of her. Placing a hand on the top of Mazikeen's head, she said, "I accept your vow, Mazikeen, eldest daughter of Lilith." She stepped back with a toothy smile. "The angel is yours. _You_ are mine."

Mazikeen rose from her knees and stood before her Soverain, no longer her own Lilim, tied indefinitely to another for the first time in her long existence. She kept her eyes averted as one pledged to a Soverain must, feeling bile rise in her throat as she did.

Anilith turned her back and returned to her throne, lounging as she regarded Mazikeen with a satisfied eye. Relaxing her pose in Mazikeen's presence was a surer statement of her superiority than any words she'd spoken. Finally, she flicked her fingers in a condescending gesture of largesse. "You may use the resources of the spire for the care of the angel for as long as you want them."

It was the dismissal Mazikeen had been waiting for. She backed out of the throne room, not making eye contact or turning her back on her Soverain. She stopped at the storeroom and filled two large packs with supplies she needed to care for Samael and returned below.

The young warrior saw her but kept the recognition to a minimal twitch that Traz did not notice. Traz lounged, picking at her jutting teeth with her dagger.

"The angel is mine, Traz." Mazikeen didn't growl. Her voice was casual, pleasant even, which made Traz's leap at the sound of her voice even more satisfying.

"The Soverain gave you the living-angel?"

Her tone was just short of calling Mazikeen a liar, and now Mazikeen growled at her, stepping into her space. Traz edged past her and retreated up the passageway. Mazikeen snorted. She was sure Traz kept her days filled groveling at Anilith's feet.

Mazikeen gave the young one an appreciative inspection. "You did well, warrior. How long ago was your first hunt?"

"Half a cycle ago. I regret not being in time to join the assault at Regulith. My blades remain thirsty."

"You missed nothing. There will be far more satisfying battles in your future," Mazikeen assured her, and the young warrior preened. "Help me remove the bar. You will carry my bags to my dome and wait until I dismiss you."

"Yes, Mazikeen." This would be a youngster to keep a special eye on. With the right guidance, she could be a great warrior.

They opened the door. Samael hadn't moved. His eyes were closed again, and he didn't respond when she nudged his shoulder. At least his curled position made scooping him into her arms easier. She gathered the cloak she'd wrapped around him closer as she held him. The young warrior had already hoisted the bags. "Follow."

Mazikeen strode forward; the warrior would catch up. If she allowed the youngster to walk with her, it would give her ideas above her status. Samael was light, his bones angular against his skin. Even with his awkward length, Mazikeen carried him up the spiraling passageway to the exterior of the central spire with ease. Anilith had been awaiting her appearance on the assembly balcony.

Seeing their Soverain make an appearance, the court favorites and Dames lounging in the courtyard paid attention.

"I, your Soverain, declare that I give the sole possession of the living-angel to my vowed warrior Mazikeen so long as she lives. We will not tolerate interference."

Anilith stared at Mazikeen until Mazikeen nodded her acknowledgment and bowed her head. The courtyard erupted in shouts of consternation and confusion. All eyes turned to her, everyone wishing to have gossip to spread about the new development.

Those who saw her walking, stared and followed, not too close, but they all wanted to catch sight of the dead-angel.

Mazikeen singled a smaller Lilim out of the crowd and shouted, "Whelp. Open that door flap."

The little monster looked surly, and kicked at the ash, making a cloud of it as he trod over to do as commanded. She gave him a snarl and glare that promised she'd put him in his place if he stepped out of line. He opened the flap and ran off. With a nod, she directed the young warrior to enter. She turned on the crowd, snarling at them until they backed away. Only then did she duck inside.

"Put the pack of supplies near the rug and go. Enjoy the attention you'll no doubt get for being a witness."

The young warrior followed orders, glowing in her excitement. Mazikeen lay Samael on the rug and tied the door flaps behind her.

The weight of what she had just done, the burden and risk of it all, pressed down on her. Samael was alive and free of the cell, and Mazikeen didn't know what to do next. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and moved forward. Keep moving, keep doing, and keep alive. It had worked for her as a spawn trying to survive the sulfur fields. It would carry her through this. Samael's body was cold; the first step would be to warm him. She stoked the fire, put warming stones on the hearth, lit several candles, and made the place as bright as possible for his weak eyes.

He needed food and drink, but until he showed signs of awareness, she didn't want to risk choking him. Getting him clean was a start. She collected a basin of water from the local bathing shack. It wasn't a dignified task, but she'd done the same for fellow warriors who'd been injured in battle or on hunts, and she performed it efficiently.

His body began to warm as she worked and she talked to him in a calm tone, using his name often. She'd seen Lilim isolated in dungeons for too long revert to being senseless beasts; she hoped it wasn't already too late for Samael.

His long limbs began to uncoil by the time she got him cleaned up, but he was still unresponsive. When she lifted him again to shift him to clean, dry bedding, his heart rate sped up and a new tension thrummed through his muscles. He opened his eyes. Now that he was showing more awareness, she might get him to drink. She sat him on the bedroll, pulled his back to her chest, and propped his head on her shoulder.

Mazikeen snagged the waterskin. "Drink." He had known that word well before; she hoped if any language remained it would be the first, essential commands. When he'd spoken back in the dungeon, when he'd pleaded with her to stay, had she imagined it? How much did he remember?

His hand jerked forward, but dropped back beside him. The limb twisted, fingers clenching tight before going still again. She held the waterskin to his lips and repeated the order. His lips parted, and she dripped some water into his mouth. He swallowed and opened again.

"Good, drink." She gave him several sips of water and then lay him on the bedding. He curled around her legs and made a trilling sound before pressing his lips tight together.

She pulled a fur around his shoulders and wrapped the warming stones in thin soft leathers and placed them around him to speed the warming.

It was important to be gentle with a belly too long deprived of sustenance. After a short while, she made a thin porridge of the scorched ooze fungus he had liked before and roused him. He drank more this time, and she returned him to the bed. As she switched out the warming stones, he blinked his eyes open.

She hoped he would show the same spark and intelligence that he had before, but his dull, red eyes focused on the fire and then...nothing. She scooted away, and he didn't react. It was disappointing, but he'd only just gotten his first bit of food in far too long. It was important to let him rest.

The next time she came to offer him food, his body thrummed with tension as soon as she touched him. It was easy to pull him into position, his back against her chest and his head resting on her shoulder as before. His wings were held so close to his body, and he was so thin that she had no difficulty working around them.

"Time to drink." Mazikeen lifted the waterskin to his mouth, but he pressed his lips together and turned his head. A fine tremor shot through him. "Okay." She set the water aside and waited, still holding him. If his mind had gone or diminished, it was even more important that she be patient. It was much like hunting and lying in wait for your prey to wander into view.

He tried to shift his position but had trouble moving. She didn't rush him, and eventually, his body relaxed against hers. After several heartbeats, he again strained to lean forward, hands on his knees, but the muscles in his back contracted, twisting his body upright, pulling his limbs taut. When the spasm receded, he slumped against her. She held him just enough to keep him from falling.

When the tremors abated, she again said, "Drink."

He turned his head away. She smiled. He was showing defiance. Anyone who could nurture a spark of rebellion that long in Anilith's dungeon was formidable.

As much as she appreciated his continued bravado, her intent was to revive him, not let him die. She poured a few sips of water into a cup and wrapped his fingers around it, keeping her hand around his.

His hand jerked, but she didn't allow him to dump the water, instead lifting his arm and the cup up to his mouth. She held it there. He offered no resistance to being positioned, other than the stiffness of his joints, but he kept his head turned. "Drink, Samael."

Another spasm wracked his arm and he jerked hard, spilling the small amount of water. Mazikeen held onto him with one arm, intending to refill the cup to try again.

"Maz-" The word was little more than a breath, but she recognized the effort he was making.

"Yes. Maze." She set the empty cup aside and squeezed his hand. "Maze." Then she pressed her hand to his chest, and she said, "Samael."

A sob ripped from his throat, and he twisted out of her grasp, breaking free from her hold to cover himself. Mazikeen understood the motivation to hide one's weakness and let him go.

She didn't know what to do. Was this a sign that he was broken? Or was this part of waking up? He curled up on the ground, silent, but his back shaking, and she rested her hand on his shoulder.

"Samael?"

He drew in a great shuddering breath and became still.

"Samael?"

He shivered but didn't answer. She pulled him back up, whatever had just happened, he still needed sustenance.

"Drink."

He sighed, and though his movements were halting, with her help, he brought the cup up to his lips and took a sip. After the water, she gave him a small amount of porridge, eased out from the supportive position at his back, and returned him to the bedding. He didn't move from where she put him, except to turn his face to the floor.

They would have forbidden him to look at them.

She'd seen reactions like these before in captives who had been at the mercy of their guards for too long. He had been a warrior. What had they done to him to force his cooperation?

She wanted to curse out loud about the milk-livered pit-slugs who did this, but she caught herself. Even if his mind wasn't gone, he was still too much like a beast. Loud sounds and fast movements would only make it take longer to gain his trust. It galled her nature, but she had to be gentle.

She placed her hand on his head, fingers rubbing over the ridges of his burned and scarred skin, soothing along the smooth and leathery valleys. He shuddered and pressed his face harder to the floor. Not the reaction she'd hoped for. "Samael."

Tension thrummed through him.

"Samael. You can look at me. You can talk to me."

He didn't move. She sighed. He didn't understand her. It shouldn't be a surprise that he'd be suspicious of touch, both gentle and harsh, and it only caused him unnecessary distress while this weak. She backed away and then made a point of moving about the room on her normal routine. She polished her armor and knives and swept the ash out of the corners and then out beneath the door flap. Throughout her activity, she tried not to pay attention to him, again calling on her instinct for putting a skittish beast at ease. It wasn't until she sat at the fire to reheat the porridge that he seemed to relax. The shelter was too warm for her taste, but he was still so cold, so she added more fuel.

He watched her; that was a positive sign. "Samael. Time to eat."

He turned his face away.

She grit her teeth. Patience, Mazikeen. Remember, you wanted this. She set the cups down and pulled the covers to his waist. She expected him to resist being moved, but he tried to cooperate. Another muscle spasm twisted through him and he curled up, unable to do anything more until his muscles relaxed.

When the spasm abated, he remained curled up on the floor, exhaustion taking over. Mazikeen sat beside him and eased him up and toward her. His limbs jerked at the unexpected movement, but he allowed it. She arranged him into a stable sitting position with his knees drawn to his chest.

Mazikeen prepared two cups of watered-down gruel and a bag of thistles. She placed the cups between them. "Eat."

He didn't move. She moved his head up, off his knees to look at his face but he refused to look directly at her. This needed to stop. Whoever had caused this deserved to be devoured alive by putrid slime beetles.

"Look." She waved her gruel in front of him. His eyes focused on it. Good.

"We eat." She took a sip. He hadn't moved aside from the constant tremors wracking his limbs, so she put his cup in his hand. "Eat." His movements were jerky but he raised it to his mouth and sipped at it.

"Good?" The whisper was so quiet that she wasn't sure she heard it until he gave a quick glance toward the bag of thistles.

She pulled one from the bag and held it out. "You are doing good."

His fingers twitched, but he didn't dare to take it. She put the thistle in his hand. He closed his fingers over it, holding it tight before popping it in his mouth.

Fury at those who dared to hurt him seethed within her. She drew in a slow breath, forcing her outward appearance to remain calm. "Eat." She motioned to him and said it again.

This time he tipped the cup until the last drops had drained. She slid her cup over, offering him her small portion. He looked at the cup. "I eat?"

The extra word startled her. How much language had he kept after all this time? She nodded and stayed as still as possible. "Yes, you eat."

His arm was working more smoothly with each task, but by the time he had finished her cup, he was swaying in place and blinking with exhaustion. "Sleep now. You're safe here." She made him lay on the bedding again. This time he fell asleep instantly.

She would dress him like a proper Lilim. Taking out her leatherworking materials, Maze laid out the tools she would need. She didn't indulge in the decorative flourishes that the leatherworking artisans added to the items they made. Functionality was her goal. She cut a three-finger width strip of leather from a heavy, stiff hide with her round leather knife. She shaped the ends and then rounded the edges with the forked beveling tool. Burnishing was the next step. It was a relaxing task that she enjoyed, pressing the bone to the leather and sliding it across, again and again, until the strap was flexible and the thickness even.

When she finished, she judged it time to feed the angel again. She filled the cups and took them over to the bedroll. He flinched and opened his eyes when she nudged his shoulder. "You need to eat and drink more." She backed away and left him to feed himself without her help or further urging.

Mazikeen returned to her leather and considered whether to dye the leather or leave it bright and pale. She pulled the ash-colored dye and soft sponge mushroom from her kit. He didn't need to be any easier to spot, and the contrast between the pale leather and his red skin was too great. The dye went on evenly, and after a few applications, it was coated. She set the belt aside to dry while she worked on the loop. It went through all the same processes but was more tedious because of its small size. The belt was ready to be oiled when she had finished the loop. Judging his breadth by how he'd felt in her arms, she punched holes in one end of the belt with an awl and used her small knife to make a slice in the center of the other end to fit the pin-style buckle. It wasn't fancy and was less reliable than her buckle with the hinged center pin, but it sufficed for now.

She admired her handiwork. It was plain, but good, sturdy work. The belt was very important as the clout was threaded through it, the leggings tied to it, pouches and knife sheaths attached to it. Without a good quality belt, a warrior might as well be naked.

The next time she looked up, Samael was sitting and watching her. He averted his gaze as soon as he noticed her watching him, but Mazikeen smiled, glad to see him taking an interest.

She picked up a scrap piece of hide she'd discarded to the side and tossed it low across the floor.

The leather landed beside his leg, making him twitch. He glanced at it and then up at her. Mazikeen turned her head away to watch from the corner of her eye. Samael looked to her before reaching for it, hands still trembling with muscle spasms and his weakened state, but he took it.

He ran his fingers over and over the soft leather, and she pretended not to notice how his eyes rarely strayed from her as she continued her work.


	6. Welcome to Hell: 6 Why and Wherefore

**Welcome to Hell: 6/7 Why And Wherefore**

* * *

Mazikeen kept a small fire burning, both for warmth and for extra light. For the first hand of winds, spasms wracked the angel's every movement. He jerked and twitched and spilled any container more than half full. When he woke, she gave him her waterskin to drink from and made plenty of scorched ooze porridge for him to eat. He ate, and he slept, and that was enough.

In the brief windows of time when he regained consciousness, he watched as she worked on molding a new piece of armor. She talked to him as she worked. It was more akin to talking to herself, but it was better than no one talking at all.

The longer he stayed awake the more irritable he became. He was still too weak to do more than sit up and she suspected boredom was starting to set in. One ashfall he frowned at the cup of watered-down porridge but drank it. He drained the waterskin, but he didn't lie back down. Mazikeen waited. This was new. It was about time he did more than sleep and eat. His hands clenched and unclenched. He shifted restlessly and darted quick glances around the room. Was he tired? Was he hungry? Whatever he wanted, Mazikeen was ready for him to speak up.

She pointedly ignored him and went back to sharpening her leatherworking tools as he continued to fidget and worry at the scrap piece of leather. He'd held onto it since the first day, as if it was far more precious than the piece of trash it was.

It took him at least half a finger of ash to work himself up to it. "No more to eat," and waved at the fire.

"Are you hungry?"

He stared at the fire, concentrating on finding the words he wanted. "No porridge."

"You want more porridge?"

"No."

"What then?"

"More, not-porridge."

"You're tired of eating scorched ooze porridge?"

His wings twitched as she spoke, but he nodded. "Yes. Tired of eating scorched ooze porridge." He sounded out the last part of the sentence, repeating until it sounded right. When he finished speaking, he held still, as though bracing himself for a blow.

She set aside her work. "Do you want meat?"

"Meat?" He grimaced even saying the word. "No meat." He shook his head and glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"How about yellow grim-moss and blistering tongue stew?

"Tongue?" he asked, sticking out his own tongue and looking disgusted.

"No, it just looks like a tongue." She dug into a jar on the shelf beside the hearth and held out a piece of bright red fungus for him to inspect.

He reached for it cautiously, twice recoiling before accepting the morsel from her hand. She kept him in her side vision as she boiled a pot of water. "Throw it in."

He sniffed the fungus before leaning forward and tossing it in the pot. Mazikeen added several more types of fungi, let them boil, and stirred them together. It congealed into a lumpy paste, and she scooped it into a bowl and passed it to Samael.

"Good?"

He dipped a finger and took a taste. "Yes. Many good."

"Very. It is very good," she corrected him, and he repeated the sentence. A thrill went through her.

He murmured some trills to himself and ate the rest of the paste in the bowl. She filled his bowl again, and a ghost of a smile crossed his face.

During the next two hands of winds, his sleep became more regular; he slept when she slept, and woke at the same time. His vocabulary grew beyond simple questions like, are you hungry, are you thirsty, are you tired? He asked to try new foods and requested favorites. He continued trying to stand up, and was able to take a couple of steps at a time if Mazikeen helped him.

But, he shut down if Mazikeen asked about the Spire.

His limbs remained stiff and sore and though progress was slow, he worked at stretching. The jerky movements in his arms became more fluid, and he could hold a cup without shaking, but his legs were worse. He still couldn't coordinate his muscles to get far on his own. Mazikeen helped him get around with her arm supporting his weight.

It was a relief he hadn't lost his stubborn streak. No matter how much pain he seemed to be in, he kept trying to stretch and move.

The bedroll beside the fire was where he spent most of his time, and when Mazikeen grew tired, she lay down beside him. The first time she woke up with him pressed against her side he shifted and pulled away, but the more they slept together, the closer he stayed. He was skittish about noises and quick movements, but when she lay down, he always lay with her.

Samael ate through her entire stock of non-meats. The fungus was meant for seasoning, not as complete meals. She handed him a bowl of chopped purple jellydisc, the last non-meat she had. He picked up one of the quivering lumps, tasted it, and nearly gagged.

"You've eaten everything else. I have to get more food."

He cocked his head at her in a way she'd become familiar with when he was working at figuring out words. After a few moments, he narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "No."

She smirked. "No?"

He drummed his fingers on his thigh. "Not good, Maze," He made a walking motion with his hand and swept it away.

Did that mean he was afraid she wouldn't come back? Leaving and returning would do more to prove her permanence than mere explanations would. She put the axe handle she'd been carving for trade into her pack, hefted the large sack full of jars she wanted filled, and firmly said, "I'll be back soon."

Samael crossed his arms and glared at her as she walked out.

So be it.

The market was quiet. Other Lilim eyed her with interest. Everyone wanted to know about the angel, but she ignored them. It took less than a knuckle of ashfall to find what she wanted and return home. Samael looked away as she entered the dome, as if to show he hadn't been watching the door flap. She didn't rub it in his face, and he didn't hold it against her. She considered it a win.

Mazikeen made frequent short trips outside her dome after that: to the market square to buy provisions and extra hides, to the training arena to spar, to the commons to couple. She left and returned, again and again, until Samael merely nodded acknowledgement when she announced she would be back later.

Lilim loved gossip and stories, and her neighbors and acquaintances grew bold the more she rejoined collective life.

"Is the angel still alive?"

"Has he regrown his feathers yet?"

Squee, a short male nest-minder who specialized in harassing whelps in the lanes, scooted up beside her. If she'd seen him coming, she would have ducked behind the knife-sharpening stall. He bounded to her side and made soft grunting noises. "Esteemed Warrior Mazikeen, how is the dead angel?"

"Living-angel," Mazikeen corrected, and often that was enough to satisfy the nosy inquirers. They'd claimed their bragging rights by having spoken to her and would then leave her alone. But no, not Squee.

He flicked his tongue and grinned, his sharpened teeth looked like they were long overdue for refiling. "Where do you keep it? What does it do?"

"I put him in a trophy jar and keep him on the shelf."

Squee's eyes widened, and his mouth formed a perfect 'o'. "Really?"

"No, Squee. Go away."

"I heard it had spines, sharp and deadly."

"Yes, and poisonous. Go away."

He nearly hopped on the spot. "How do you know it won't kill you in your sleep?" he asked, but she was already walking away.

The hide trader measured out the length Mazikeen asked for and leaned across the counter. "You've got the angel holed up in your dome."

Everyone knew that. "Yep."

"Did you hear about the time the angel escaped?"

No, she hadn't heard that one. "Tell me."

"The Spire guards tell it best. This was after they put it down below in Anilith's dungeon. All five of them assigned to angel-watching, they all swear that door was locked, but one of them must have forgot. The angel snuck out, attacked his guards and made a go of it. Against all odds he made it right up the cavern tunnels, and that place is known for its twists and turns, innit?"

"No one has ever escaped the dungeon," Maze said in wonder.

The leather trader snickered. "It didn't escape far enough, though, did it? It got all the way up, outside even. And what did it get for its trouble? High wind. Stupid thing nearly choked to death before collapsing. Oh, you shoulda heard the stories of what they did to it after that. I had a dame tell me she could hear the wails all the way up the spire. Can you imagine?" He chuckled with delight.

Mazikeen didn't want to imagine it at all.

"How do you keep it from escaping?" the trader asked next.

Mazikeen answered as little as possible and used her fists with the few who didn't take the hint.

When she got back to the dome, she tossed Samael the entire bag of thistles she'd bought. Save them or eat them, she didn't care what he did, but he deserved far more.

Samael started Izuden's old game to learn more words. He pointed to things and repeated the words as Mazikeen named them. Her frustration level rose when he focused on saying them perfectly. She didn't care that he blended the syllables or phrases together, or if certain sounds didn't come out right. Wasn't it enough that he was learning them?

It was on his fifth try to pronounce javelin properly that she quit.

"We've been at this since the wind calmed. You're tired. Rest."

In protest, he flopped down on his back, wings flattening out on either side.

"Go to sleep."

"Not tired," he mumbled back and tossed an arm over his eyes. But she was right, sleep came to him fast, and he rolled onto his side to sprawl over both their bedrolls.

When she finished cutting the leather she was shaping, she joined him, and he didn't even stir when she shoved him aside to get more space.

Sounds of suppressed pain woke her from her sleep. Samael was no longer on the bedroll beside her. Had someone snuck into her dome? Was Samael hurt? She saw him across the room, unsteady, but standing upright and holding on to the wall for balance.

He walked back and forth until his right knee gave out. After a few moments, he pulled himself up again by using the shelf, and began walking again. He practiced walking until his muscles shook with each step. That was enough. She understood the need to regain what was lost, but re-injuring himself through obstinance would only prolong his recovery.

She rose from her bedroll making plenty of noise to warn him she was up.

"Maze," he said, his voice tightly controlled.

She strolled over to the shelves to retrieve bleeding cap fungus and red hair-moss, and held one arm out for him to grasp if he wanted to. He had a warrior's heart. She wouldn't shame him by openly suggesting he needed help.

He took her arm, and they walked back to the bedrolls where he sank down with a relieved sigh. She placed the bleeding caps in the ashes and set water to boil. From the corner of her eye she saw how he grimaced and rubbed at his legs. She made a twist of the hair-moss and held it at the edge of the fire until it caught, and puffed on it, holding the smoke in her lungs before letting it out. An easy feeling spread in her limbs.

Grinning, she passed it to Samael. "You'll like this."

He took it with a skeptical look and sniffed the burning end. "The same?" he pointed at the hair-moss she'd added to the water for tea.

She laughed. "It's stronger when you smoke it. Your legs will feel better."

He examined it, shifted, grimaced, and took a drag, holding his breath longer than Mazikeen could hold hers. Mazikeen stretched and pinched the herb from his fingers and took another drag before passing it back. She wished she'd had some to give him during the first winds when the spasms had twisted him up.

He began his trilling, warbling sounds, and then chuckled. She looked over at him and caught him gazing at her with glassy eyes. More of the sounds fell from his mouth as he relaxed, head and shoulders falling back on the furs. He lolled his head toward her, making more trills and tittering. She plucked the still burning moss from his lax fingers and took a long draw on it. He chuckled more, and despite the monstrous burned skin, he was beautiful.

They smoked and laughed. During the ashfall, he remembered how to use words again, and he mislabeled everything in the house, snickering each time she said no. When the winds began again, and he was snoring, lying across both their bedrolls, she knew she'd have to buy more hair-moss for another ashfall.

The continuous inactivity was mind numbing and Mazikeen longed for action. How the nest-minders took care of helpless sprogs without going crazy with inaction was beyond her. Samael wasn't a sprog, but there wasn't much he did on his own. It was, however, an opportunity to catch up on her leatherwork and armor projects.

As she carved around the shell, she nicked a piece she hadn't meant to and cursed, hitting her fist on the ground to vent her frustration.

Samael tensed, staring at her until she looked at him, and he quickly averted his gaze. Mazikeen sighed and moved closer, reaching her hand out to touch his shoulder, but he flinched away.

"This." She held up the shell and showed him the damage she'd done on her piece.

He nodded, but she wasn't sure if he believed her or not.

So, she distracted him. "Do you remember the number words?" she asked and held up her fingers.

He nodded and said the words as she prompted him, and when she held out a thistle and dropped it into his hand, he quickly ate it and lay down, facing away from her.

He refused to interact for a finger's ash, but finally, he sat up. "Maze."

"What?"

He grit his teeth and pressed his lips tight. Rather than use words, he reached out and took her arm, guiding her hand to rest on his shoulder.

"Are you going to tell me what you want or not?"

"Touch?" he asked.

She still didn't understand.

He released a long breath. "I don't want…" He paused and frowned deeply. Instead of words, he acted out the way he had reacted earlier, pretending to flinch away. He placed his hand over hers on his shoulder. "You are not bad. No more bad…" He searched again for the word he needed, and Mazikeen didn't rush him. He tapped his head. "No more bad here."

"You want me to touch you?"

He nodded. "You won't hit."

"But they hit you, and you expect it?"

He didn't respond in words, but his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

He'd spent three sprog cycles at the mercy of Anilith's 'handlers'.

She left her hand on his arm until he pulled away and reached out to him often through the rest of the ashfall. Later, when she lay down on her bedroll, he curled around her, and they fell asleep intertwined.

A hand of ashfalls later, Samael started to backslide. Mazikeen knew how wildly Samael's moods could change, but this was different. After deliberately initiating physical contact, now he wrapped a soft sleeping fur around his shoulders and over his wings and refused to let her near him at all.

He paced the room, agitated and skittish. She prepared food for them, and he finally stopped to eat. He crouched and balanced on his toes, one hand holding the cup and the other clutching the fur. Mazikeen stood abruptly, and he startled so hard, he lost his balance and fell. Fortunately, there'd been nothing left in the cup to spill, but then he was back up and pacing.

"Samael?" She looked pointedly at the cushion by the fire.

He pulled the fur tighter around himself. "Maze," he answered back, echoing her tone and refused to follow her unspoken suggestion to sit down.

She shrugged and continued to work, but the constant motion at the edge of her vision and the slap of his bare feet was getting to her. He sped up, and that was the end of her tolerance. "Samael, sit down!"

He dropped to the floor mid-stride and glared. She snorted and rolled her eyes.

Eventually, he got up and walked over to the fire. He eyed her like she was a coiled serpent as he sat down, and even then, he didn't sit still. The fur stayed clasped tightly around his shoulders, but he shifted and squirmed.

"Are you ill?" she asked him.

"No."

So what was it then? She got up and rummaged through her small box of pins and fasteners. She could feel his eyes following her. She strode back to him and he didn't move from his seat, but he leaned away, dodging her first attempt to grasp the furs. She stopped, exasperated and furious with Anilith and everyone else responsible for damaging him. She held up the pin. It was much like the one in his belt, only larger.

"I'm going to make holes in the fur, so you can pin it on and free your hands."

He nodded and held still as she cut the leather. He didn't offer to take the fur off, and she had to lean over him at an awkward angle. She stepped away when she finished and checked the fit.

He let go of the ends and the cloak stayed in place.

"Better?"

"Yes."

Single-word answers were all he'd offer. She sat down beside him. All these strange mood shifts, the agitation, she knew it stemmed from his time in the Spire. Maybe if she had a better idea of what he went through, she could do more.

"Samael, I need to know what happened after I left for war-harvest."

His jaw clenched, and he stared steadily into the fire. "No."

"Samael, we can't stay in this dome forever."

He shut down.

She couldn't get anything else out of him the rest of the ashfall. He wasn't even interested in food. He slept as far away as he could get. When she woke, he had rolled onto the stone floor and was shivering. He stayed wrapped in the fur. This backward progress was discouraging, and she hated that she didn't know what to do about it.

She needed answers. If he would not tell her, then she'd find someone else who would.

Izuden should have been watching out for him. The young Dame had been accepted into Anilith's circle after she'd shown she'd gotten a sprog from Varun, and still lived in the Spire. If there were answers to be had, Mazikeen knew that was where she needed to start.

The high wind dragged on, but as the gusts began to slow, Mazikeen woke early and dressed formally in her battle gear. Samael eyed her warily.

"I'm going out." Mazikeen gave him a moment. Would he say something?

He rose and stood staring at the designs etched into her breastplate. "Out? Away far? Many long?" He grumbled and cleared his throat and started again. "Many ashfalls? Long time?"

She looked down at her armor and realized…she'd been dressed like this during her last visit with him in the Spire before leaving for the assault on Regulith. "No, only one ashfall."

He crossed his arms and stepped back. "Where?"

"I need to talk to someone in the Spire, but I'll be back before the wind rises." Mazikeen placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched and pulled away.

She needed answers, and she would not get them standing here. He returned to sit beside the fire and refused to look at her as she left.

The Spire loomed in the center of the walled collective, a spiraling tower crafted to intimidate. The guard at the gate recognized her and stepped aside. She didn't spare him a second glance. She knew where to find Izuden.

The young Lilim lounged in the communal room, the main luxury area covered with giant furs and back rests, where most of the minor dames collected to share gossip and contrive new schemes. Mazikeen spotted her instantly- straddling a content warrior male.

"Izuden."

The look on Izuden's face at being interrupted was fearsome until she recognized Mazikeen. She masked the irritation behind a genial smile and dismounted her current coupling partner.

"How nice of you to visit, Mazikeen. Your prowess at the siege reached my ears many times while you were away." Izuden kept her tone formal as she eyed the other dames in the room with suspicion.

"We need to talk."

Izuden tilted her chin up. "We do. Come, I have a place where we will not be interrupted." She guided Mazikeen through the communal room and out a door to a small balcony overlooking the Collective. Lights twinkled from various fires lit below and Mazikeen took her time enjoying the view. Beyond the walls, the steadily falling ash obscured everything.

"I did not think he lived," Izuden began, forgoing all pretense now that they were alone. They both knew what Mazikeen was here about.

"You said you'd watch over him."

"What was I to do?" Izuden defended. She circled the room and peeked out the doors to ensure there were no eavesdroppers. "Traz took over supervising his circumstances after you left."

"Traz? What right did she have to claim the position?"

"She's favored. That was all she needed. They limited my visits. The guards refused to interact with him. Even with the improvements you negotiated, it was obvious he wasn't thriving. The more isolated they kept him; the worse things became. Samael claimed the solitude was worse than physical discomfort."

"He told you that?"

"Perhaps with simpler words, but he was learning fast. No one would listen to me, and especially not to him. If only he'd been more valuable. But his wings stayed the same as when you dragged him out of the lava. It got really bad when Anilith demanded a feather and he defied her."

Mazikeen felt ill.

"Your suggestion to treat him like a spawn didn't pan out, so Traz recruited a beast-minder to gain control."

"Who is this beast-minder?"

"Tiraq. He cut off all contact. I arranged updates through a guard who wished to couple with me, but I could no longer visit. I did everything I could."

"You could have stood up to them, been Lilim."

"My reputation was at stake. You should have seen the looks the other dames gave me for interacting with him as much as I did. I am not an intimate of the Soverain; I have no authority here." Izuden argued. "I swear to you I tried. Even the sprog I birthed—a beautiful little male with my horns and his sire's chin—wasn't up to their standards."

"Where do I find this Tiraq?"

This time Izuden grinned. "In the dungeon. That was his reward for failing Soverain Anilith."

Mazikeen looked out over the Collective again, noting the depth of ashfall that had fallen. There was plenty of time before the winds picked up.

She nodded to Izuden and turned to leave, but Izuden caught her arm.

"It's true Samael lives? He survived?"

"He lives. Whether he survived is yet to be seen," Mazikeen informed her coolly, and jerked free. She had another interview to do.

She made her way down the Spire to the caverns. Faced with inciting her wrath, the guards did not dare refuse her admission. "Take me to Tiraq."

They obeyed, moving into the caverns without a word. She walked at their side. Tiraq's cell door was barely two levels below. This was nothing like the barred entrance of the cell they confined Samael in. This was a simple lock and required only a flick of a latch to gain entry. She left the door open behind her and entered.

The air was vile and stagnant with ash. The male Lilim lay curled up in the corner and lifted his head when she came in. His emaciated form shuddered as he coughed, the spasms in his chest so deep Mazikeen thought he'd dislodge a rib.

"Mazikeen?" he wheezed, attempting futilely to sit up.

Mazikeen smiled, pleased that he recognized her so easily.

She crouched beside him. "What did you do to the angel?"

Tiraq shuddered and licked his lips. "I did my duty. The beast was out of control—"

"He's mine now," Mazikeen answered. "Go on, tell me how you trained him."

"Yours? You mean for harvest?" Tiraq whimpered and miserably tried to hide his head. "It—"

"He," Mazikeen growled.

"Soverain Anilith ordered me to take charge. It didn't help that that dame had been teaching it to mimic speech. I did what anyone would do with a feral beast in need of trimming."

Mazikeen fumed. She knew exactly what he meant. She ran one finger down the side of Tiraq's face, and said, "Tell me. I want to hear it from your lips."

He whimpered. "The normal things. It was obstinate. We strung it up. Thank the above it came with that cord so we could secure it properly."

"Strung up how?" Mazikeen's eye twitched with the effort of not annihilating this worm.

"Wrapped that cord around his wings and hung him from the ceiling, all displayed like. That's how it's done with the flying gutrenders when we catch'em to milk their venom. Let'em dangle 'til they tire themselves out. Took a while for it to get hungry and weak. Even then it took a bunch of us to hold it down long enough to get those feathers. Those things are nearly impossible to pull out. Bled like a geyser too." He waved his arms to demonstrate the blood flow and chuckled.

Mazikeen shoved his shoulder hard and said, "Get on with it."

Tiraq cleared his throat and leaned further away from her, almost lying down again. His simpering voice grated on her nerves. "I had no idea harvesting would be such hard work. But it's like any beast. Hurt 'em enough, and they'll submit. It fought like a cornered rat, I tell you, even starved like that. It all went better after I figured out the trick of wrapping that cord around its neck. Whenever it struggled it would choke itself out. That's the only way I finally got it docile enough to be handled—"

"Handled?"

"The wings, you know? That was the whole purpose, wasn't it? To harvest his feathers?" Tiraq smiled toothlessly at her. "I took care of it, too. Rewarded it when it was good. I even brought it better food. No more of that moss and fungus stuff. Good meat broth. Stupid beast didn't even want it. But, whip a stubborn, ungrateful beast enough and it'll calm down. Took more lashes than I ever seen one live through, but we made it understand what was best for it. We made progress."

Mazikeen spat on the floor. "But that—you did all that while they confined him in the Spire, didn't you? What changed? Why have him brought down here?"

"Well, it was the spines. The feathers never grew back. The Soverain demanded feathers, but the worthless beast wouldn't obey. It taunted us with Lilim speech until we gagged it. Still tried to speak when we gave it water. Senseless thing didn't seem t'care how many times we bashed it in the face, just kept speaking, so we kept it gagged. And then, it dared grow spines instead of feathers! Had to rip 'em out each time—hard, bloody work that, room'd look like a slaughterhouse every time."

He laughed, the sound hanging in the rancid air. "Put the worthless thing to work cleaning up its own mess after." He laughed again, and the image Tiraq described burned itself into her mind. "It never would grow what it was supposed to. I tried everything I could, but Soverain grew impatient. She had us both taken down here to the pits. I did everything I could; it wasn't my fault."

A slow death in the pits was the worst way for a Lilim to die. She wouldn't give in to her desire to crush Tiraq's head under her heel. He deserved every moment of his slow starvation. Let him suffer as Samael had, alone in the dark. Mazikeen turned toward the door. She was done here. Samael was waiting for her at home.

"Wait, you can't just leave me here. Tell them it wasn't my fault it died. I did nothing wrong."

Mazikeen spun back around. "You're where you belong. The angel lived; he's mine now."

"Then, I didn't fail. I should be a hero, not stuck down here. I've worked with it before. I can help you."

She turned; expression fierce. "If you ever see Samael again, it will be on your knees, and at the end of his sword," she answered, and walked out, locking the door securely behind her.


	7. Welcome to Hell: 7 The Coming Storm

**Welcome to Hell: 7/7 The Coming Storm**

* * *

Mazikeen made it home before the wind grew strong enough to sweep up the ash and choke the air. Samael was pacing when she entered, but she turned from him, tied the door covering closed, and set about removing her armor before acknowledging him. She needed time to sort through everything she'd heard. Tiraq, Samael's former handler and instrument of his torture, earned every horrible thing coming to him. Wasting away in the cavern pits was what the slime-bellied ash-licker deserved.

She vibrated with suppressed anger. Coming back to the dome while still riled up had been a mistake. Why had she ever accepted the assignment to join the assault at Regulith? None of this would have happened if she'd stayed.

Or would it have?

How much would she have risked on Samael's behalf? Would she have defied Anilith? Risked exile?

She'd traded her freedom for him. Wasn't that enough to prove she could have made a difference? But she hadn't done that for him, had she? It was about the potential she'd seen in him, in controlling the living angel and his divinity.

Mazikeen grabbed the closest item on hand, a bowl-shaped shell, and hurled it across the dome. It shattered against the wall.

Samael took a startled step back, pacing abandoned. Mazikeen's nerves were on fire. It wasn't him she wanted to lash out at, but he was here. "What are you looking at?"

His gaze traveled from the shell bits scattered on the floor and back to her. "You're meet at the Spire was not good?"

"I left you there."

It didn't take him long to catch onto what she meant. "You came back."

"I delivered you to them," she yelled. "Don't you get it?"

He nodded. "I do."

"I did this to you."

He laughed and looked up at the ceiling. "You didn't. Not you."

She couldn't. It was too much. Mazikeen spun on her heel and walked out. She went to the market and bought the strongest fermented drink she could find and sat in the commons drinking. She ignored everyone who stopped, even a fellow warrior intent on finding someone to couple with. Mazikeen wasn't interested. It had all started with the ashfall the angel fell. What if she never went to claim harvest? Varun would have gotten there first, and none of this would be her problem. She wished she'd never met Samael.

She wished she'd kept him for herself instead of bringing him to Anilith.

She stayed in the commons drinking until the winds were so strong the ash turned the air grey and burned her lungs. Lilim rushing back to the safety of their domes looked away as they passed her and she clumsily rose to her feet. Either she needed to find shelter or go home.

The door ties were too tight for her fumbling fingers to grasp. Frustration at everything rushed through her. Could she not do anything right? And then there he was. Samael reached out and dragged her inside before securing the flap closed again. Mazikeen lay on her back on the dome floor, staring up, eyes watering from the ash.

Samael's pitted, scarred, burnt-up face stared down at her with glowing eyes. "Don't do this." His tone was pleading, at odds with the flare of his eyes.

She squinted up at him. "Do what?"

"Don't leave again."

Mazikeen barely caught what he said, but it was followed by what sounded like something about scale-sided maggot suckers…just before pulling her upright and hooking his arms behind her shoulders and under her legs. Mazikeen grabbed onto Samael's neck as he carried her across the dome to the bedroll and lowered her down.

"Why can't you stand? Are you sick?"

She laughed and shook her head, no. "You put your sandals on."

"I did."

"Were you going to come look for me?"

"Go to sleep, Maze."

And she closed her eyes and did.

…

Mazikeen woke up with a raging pit fiend squatting on her head. Or, it felt like there was.

Pounding invaded her senses. She assumed it was the internal throbbing after affects of the fermented drink until Samael crouched at her side and shook her shoulder. "Maze," he whispered. "Someone's here."

"I hear it," she groaned as she sat up. "Stay out of sight." He rolled his eyes and stood to the side of the door where nosy visitors wouldn't see him. He still had the cloak pinned securely over his back and wings.

Mazikeen opened the flap enough to peer out, and Izuden beamed at her from the other side. Mazikeen scowled. "What are you doing here?"

"I want to see Samael." Izuden's smile looked unnatural, all mouth and no eyes. Mazikeen regarded her suspiciously.

"What if he doesn't want to see you?" Rather than open the door, she looked over at Samael. "You remember Izuden?"

He nodded, eyes darting to the door flap as though trying to see through it. She knew Izuden's rendition of what happened in the Spire now, but she knew nothing about Samael's side of things. "She wants to see you."

He snorted. "I'm not deaf, Maze." Samael tugged at his clothes to straighten them and stepped into view. Mazikeen interpreted that as a yes. It only occurred to her later that she'd never asked what he wanted.

Mazikeen pulled back the flap to let Izuden in. What did a Dame, used to the opulence of the Spire, think of a simple warrior's dome? Izuden dressed in the modern fashion of the Spire, displaying as much skin as possible between supportive leather wraps dyed in bright colors. Even her sandals were crafted to showcase the shape and contours of her feet. Of course the dames of the Spire wouldn't consider the need for protective coverings; they never exposed themselves to the dangers warriors did.

But Izuden wasn't interested in Mazikeen's decorating. She turned to Samael and covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, Samael, I thought you were dead."

Mazikeen tensed and placed herself between Samael and Izuden.

Samael kept his eyes averted from the dame, and when Izuden took a step forward, he took a step away.

"When Soverain Anilith demanded the feather, I was horrified." Izuden stepped closer.

Mazikeen expected Samael to shut down, like he did with her whenever she mentioned the Spire. He flicked his gaze toward Mazikeen, the cloak moved as his wings twitched underneath.

"Issiden-"

"Izu-den," the dame sounded out.

Whatever he'd been about to say was lost as he took a breath and carefully sounded out her name again. "Izuden."

"You should have let Anilith have what she asked for. Nobody wanted to hurt you, but what were they supposed to do after you resisted the guards like that? They were just doing their jobs. Of course there were consequences."

Samael looked directly at Izuden. "I tried—"

The dame interrupted him again. "You belong to Soverain Anilith. You were supposed to follow her demands."

Mazikeen reached forward to grab Izuden's arm but Izuden dodged to the side and out of Mazikeen's reach.

No way. The dame was not going to enter her dome and insinuate Samael had deserved what they'd done to him. Mazikeen opened her mouth to tell the dame to shut up, but Samael spoke first.

"I know, I know what they want," he answered Izuden. He rubbed at his forehead and started to pace.

Izuden let out a long sigh. "I tried to warn you, remember?"

"No." He shook his head, refusing to follow Izuden's narrative. "No, you didn't warn me. You bring…you brought them. The guards. You let them."

"They would have done it whether or not I was there. I tried to make it easier for you. Do you even know how bad you made me look? I told them you'd listen to me. Why didn't you listen?"

That was enough. This time Mazikeen didn't let Izuden dart out of the way, she grabbed the dame's shoulder, yanked her aside, and pushed her up against the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of her.

"What do you want with us?" Mazikeen snarled. "Did Anilith send you?"

"I needed to see for myself. I heard about your vow to our Soverain. Why did you do it? What worth can he have to you?"

"You know what they did to him," Mazikeen snarled, shaking Izuden against the wall. "They had him tied up and gagged so he couldn't even breathe. For how long?"

"He tried to escape, Mazikeen," Izuden countered. "He attacked Spire guards and ran out into the wind. The guard who rescued him nearly died. There had to be consequences, and he was already worthless."

"No, he's not!"

"He should have obeyed the Soverain's order," Izuden insisted.

"You should have protected him," Mazikeen snarled, but she already knew the lie in her words. It shouldn't have fallen to Izuden. Mazikeen was the one who had failed.

Izuden glanced to the side where Samael stood watching. "He's not Lilim."

"He's mine now. No one will touch him, ever again." Mazikeen raised her fist, but Samael grabbed her arm before she could deliver the blow. He pulled her off Izuden with enough force to shove her across the room.

He stood facing Izuden, his fists clenched at his sides. "I remember. You were there."

"I wanted to help you-"

"No, no, not that. Not when they…" His wings shuddered at just the mention. "Later. I heard you."

"Samael—"

His eyes blazed. "Under the Spire, in the dark. You came."

"They forced me to come see you, to check if you were still alive," Izuden countered.

"You didn't. You didn't come close, and you told them I was dead." Samael looked at Mazikeen, still on the ground where he'd pushed her, and then back at Izuden. "I was not dead."

"Not just me. Everyone thought the same. I tried to help."

"You… I trusted you. I thought you were better." He raised his arm. His hand was shaking, but this time he didn't notice or care. "I thought you were good. You left me. In the dark, quiet, I was alone. No one came back!" His hand fell to his side but he didn't drop his gaze.

Izuden turned away this time, running out the door before he could say anything further. Mazikeen got up. She brushed off her backside and tied the door flap closed before any curious passersby could look in. She'd be surprised if there wasn't a crowd gathered outside her dome already.

"Samael," she said, and he backed away from her, all the way to the opposite wall.

He covered his face with his hands, breathing hard. "Maze," he started and then stopped. "I don't know the word."

"What do you want to say?"

He dropped to the floor and pressed himself against the wall with his legs drawn up. "Don't know. Consequences?"

Mazikeen was close now, she crouched down so she was at his level. "For what? Pushing me?"

He turned his head away from her, shutting down.

She reached forward and grasped his wrists. His eyes were still glowing. "No consequences. You stopped me from doing something stupid."

He didn't respond, and she let him go. Her head was still pounding from the drink she'd had the ashfall before. There was nothing she could do. He would settle in his own time.

She cooked breakfast and then lunch and finally supper while he stayed huddled in the corner. The bowl of porridge she placed next to him went untouched. After the winds picked up she laid down on her bedroll, and he stayed where he was, watching. When she woke, that was where he remained.

"Come have breakfast." He had to be hungry. This was a long sulk even for Samael. If she could lure him back to the fire, get him fed and rested, maybe he'd open up to her again.

When he didn't join her, she sighed and focused her full attention on him. "Samael, what is wrong with you?"

He shuddered. "I don't want it to be you."

"What?" She tried to remember everything Izuden had said, but the foolish dame had said so many things. Unless he started talking, Mazikeen couldn't know which one set him off. She held her hand out, trying for soothing. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He glared up at her, eyes flaring with intense flames. "Stay back."

"I won't hurt you."

"You say you won't." The words tumbled out. "She said they won't. I thought they stopped growing back. I don't want—" He looked at her, the fire dimmed, his eyes pleading. "Don't do it, Maze."

"Whatever you're hiding, I'll find out eventually."

He squared his shoulders. "Why am I here? Why all this?" He swept his arm at everything around them. "To take me back? I know why you go … went … to the Spire. You saw. You told them."

"You're not making sense."

He took a breath and licked his lips. "My wings."

She edged forward until she was within arm's reach and waited, trying to be patient. The urge to forcefully pull the cloak off him was strong. She held back. "What about your wings?"

He gave up pleading and tilted his head back, defeated. "Feathers, Maze. They're growing back."

Was that why he'd been holding his wings tight against his back, keeping them covered?

"Show me."

He shifted, and his wing tips extended from under the cape. There, sticking out of the skin were small… points. She remembered what Tiraq had told her about pulling out spines and how the guards had been worried they'd grow into weapons.

He looked at her and his eyes held such depths of pain that he seemed unfathomably ancient.

"That's not a feather," Mazikeen said.

"These grow, make feathers."

"The spines grow into feathers?" she asked again, giving into the urge to prod one with a fingertip. It wasn't sharp. How had Tiraq and the guards been afraid of this? Samael flinched away, and she backed off. "These are what those toad-eyed motherless whelps were pulling out of your wings all that time?"

He pressed further into the corner, knees up and head resting on his hands, muffling his words. "I want you to be different. Not like Ovtig. Not like Tiraq"

She spat on the ground at the mention of their names. "I'm not like Ovtig or Tiraq." This was worse than she'd imagined. "Samael, what did you think I was going to do?"

"The Spire. You dressed in armor. Issiden came. I belong to Anilith. She will take them." His voice rose in volume, "I tried, Maze. I tried to tell them. Again, and again. Every time they took, it felt like knives—deep." His fists clenched as he ran out of words.

She held her hands out to the side, non-threatening, "Each time?" How many times had they removed them?

He nodded. "Each time, Maze."

"And you think I will give you back to her? So they can remove them again?"

He stared back, daring her to deny it.

She whacked his leg, hoping to snap him out of his stupid ideas. "Why would you think I'd do that to you? I had other reasons for going to the Spire. Besides, you do not belong to Anilith anymore. You're mine. And I won't let anyone touch you."

"I belong to…you." His flat tone was not the reaction she'd hoped for.

"I will not take your feathers, and they will not take from me something that is mine."

He gave her a long, deep stare, but he nodded, and gripped her shoulder. "Then I am yours."

Mazikeen reciprocated his grip, and returned to the hearth to make breakfast, giving Samael a chance to regain his composure, and by the time his bowl was ready he resumed his place at her side. Neither of them mentioned anything more about feathers.

Over the next hands of ashfalls, Samael recovered his strength. He ate, though he still refused to consume anything he even suspected might contain meat, and he paced and paced and paced.

He startled every time someone touched her door flap, even when the winds rattled it too strongly. His vocabulary grew daily, but he sometimes paused to place his hands together in the most peculiar way, while looking up at the ceiling and reverted to the trills and warbles he made before learning how to talk. Sometimes the tone and expression was angry, sometimes it sounded like the pitiable cries of a captive begging for its life, and other times it was soft, hopeful. He sat for knuckles of ash staring up, not moving, not responding to anything she said.

The spines growing out of his wings sprouted fluffy tips, and soon, full feathers began to emerge.

The mixture of spines and feathers looked strange, but it didn't take long for them to fill in. They couldn't hide inside her dome forever. When Anilith found out, would she find an excuse to break Mazikeen's vow? Would she try to force his return to the Spire?

The wings were magnificent, such a vivid contrast to his red skin. They were constantly in motion, ruffling and shifting with his breath. Gradually, the agitation settled. He startled less. He occupied the same space as her more often. He didn't tense up every time she left the dome to go to the market or the commons.

Recovery did not improve his mood though, and he was often surly, using all those whelp curses Izuden had taught him on the ceremonial march. When she asked him to do something, he'd refuse, testing her response. If he was a whelp, she would have knocked him to the floor and taught him respect, but she knew it was a razor-thin layer of bravado. The slightest snap from her left him brooding in silence.

The tension in the dome drove Mazikeen to spend more time at the commons. She drank and coupled and pretended everything was fine. They couldn't continue like this. Samael couldn't stay confined to the dome forever. And then what?

She staggered back to her dome as the winds rose, having been in a glorious, drunken brawl and the orgy of coupling that followed it. A strange light emitted from around her door flap. The air was warm outside, there was no need to build a large fire for heat. She opened the door flap and was met with a brightness so radiant she had to squint her eyes nearly closed. It wasn't coming from her hearth.

Samael. His wings shone with the brightest light she'd ever seen.

In full extension, the tips of Samael's wings brushed the outer walls of her dome. When he saw her he flexed them closed, the light snuffed out as he folded them against his back.

"Samael."

He faced her, but didn't respond.

Mazikeen tied her door flaps closed tightly and added a cover over that to block any of the light within from seeping out. "Show me again."

He did. And his smile of pride over the accomplishment was almost as dazzling as his wings.

Samael grew stronger each ashfall.

The winds outside turned. Mazikeen monitored the change with trepidation. The air felt more dense than usual, and a gust of wind nearly blew the door flap off its ties in the middle of the next ashfall. Mazikeen dropped the knife sheath she was stitching and hurried outside. The air was already thick. Coils of wind spun down from the above as the great swirling ash cloud flashed with lightening. Thunder shook the ground moments later.

The hair on her arms stood on end. A storm. They hadn't seen a disturbance like this since Samael fell from the above. She hauled out a solid piece of umberhulk shell. It was larger than the narrow point just inside the door, so it couldn't be forced inside. She fixed it into place and went around the dome, preparing for the disturbance to come. Anything easily broken needed to be secured. Lilim all over the collective rushed to make similar preparations.

Finally, she checked on Samael. She wanted to warn him before she extinguished the fire and sealed the flue. He had gone quiet when she began working. Would he be frightened? He'd never experienced anything like this before.

But he was at the shell, his hand pressed to it, his eyes unfocused, listening.

"What's happening?" he asked, voice distant.

"It's a storm. But my dome is sturdy. It won't shake apart."

"A storm. I felt this...dimly, before." He waved vaguely at his wings.

"The last storm happened the ashfall after you fell from the above. I doubt you'd remember."

Mazikeen watched him closely. Spawn and whelps were generally terrified of storms like these. She'd assumed the angel would react similarly. He was from the above, wasn't he? She wondered what it was like up there when the storms raged below. But he sat quietly, hand still resting on the protective shell over the door. There was another loud clap of thunder, and it shook the ground and the dome. His feathers glowed with white light.

Samael reached for the fasteners holding the shell in place.

"You can't go outside. The ash is many, many times worse in a storm."

"It wants me." His voice was distant like one speaking in their sleep.

"What?"

"Can't you feel it? It's out of balance."

"You aren't making sense. Going out in that is death." She grabbed his arm.

He shook her off, pushing her away to continue working at the fasteners. Three of the five were already undone. "I have to, Maze."

The shell was off by the time Mazikeen was back on her feet. Samael easily pushed the large bulky covering.

What part of there's a storm outside did he not understand? The winds became so strong that sometimes the very ash in the air would catch fire. They had lost entire collectives to storms like these.

"Samael! Stop." She leapt onto his back, trying to get an arm around his throat. "I won't let you kill yourself!"

He threw her across the room with a roar, and his wings and eyes flared so bright it dazzled Mazikeen's vision. By the time she could see again, the door flap was slapping against the wall and ash swirled everywhere, obstructing her vision and clogging her lungs. Samael was not visible.

She grabbed a scarf off a hook on the wall and wrapped it around her head, over her nose and mouth, and fought the wind to reach the door frame. She squinted into the ash.

Through the gale, she saw Samael's light, and she struggled towards it. He stood tall, his wings radiant—enough that they created an eerie bubble of light around him. The ash swirled in torrents, but didn't touch him. His arms were raised overhead, and his head tipped toward the sky. His hands swept down in a fluid motion in tandem with his wings. A brilliant explosion of light and sound burst forth from where he stood.

The wind stopped.

The ash stopped.

Everything was still and silent. His wings went dark.

Mazikeen heard doors being unfastened all around her. Samael fell to his knees and then face first into the ash. Mazikeen ran to him. She turned him over and roughly brushed off his face.

He grinned at her weakly, "I did it, Maze," he whispered, and his eyes drifted shut.

She shook him. "You idiot!"

The other Lilim were streaming from their domes now. "Did the angel do that?" "The beast has doomed us all!" "The storm is gone!" "The living-angel has power!" "It has feathers!"

They crowded closer, hands reaching to touch or claim, Mazikeen wasn't sure. Samael opened his eyes, but remained on the ground, his wings limp. She leaned in. "Can you walk? They're watching, you need to show your strength."

"I will." His face was set in a determined expression. He rose to his feet, held his wings aloft with pride.

Mazikeen guarded his back as he went, and the chatter shifted. "The living-angel fought the storm." "I saw it! I saw him explode and reform!" "Explode?" "He exploded, I tell you!" "The feathers exploded!"

Mazikeen tied the door flap down, cutting off the excitement in the lane. She heard a thump of his body collapsing behind her, but she secured the shell in place before looking at him. She was not willing to take any chances now that the other Lilim knew Samael's feathers had grown back.

When she turned around, she froze, unable to believe her eyes.

He had gotten himself onto the bedroll and propped up on his elbow, grinning at her like when they smoked hair-moss together, but he looked up at her from a face she hadn't seen in nearly four sprog cycles, not since dragging him from the fiery lake.

It was the face he possessed while in the lake of blue flames, and then briefly on shore. His face, before it was scorched away, transformed into the burned and scarred visage she was familiar with. This was a deceptive Power, Glamour. Lilith possessed the skill, as did all of her true children, including Mazikeen. And now Samael, the living-angel, discarded as worthless, had performed two very different acts of Power in only moments.

She stared at him, examining him as she would an unfamiliar beast on a hunt. He had true Power. Would he now turn it against the Lilim? Against her?

His smile faltered. "Maze?"

"Samael. How…. How?"

He frowned. "The storm was wrong. The realm cried out to me, and I heard. I heard it clearly, Maze. And I gave it what it needed!"

She jolted toward him and he flinched. Cautiously, she knelt at his side. A flash of fear shadowed the new, unmarked face he was wearing as she reached out and grasped his hand. She held it up in front of his eyes.

"Samael. How did you do this?"

He tugged free of her grasp and stared at his hand, both his perfect hands, and flopped onto his back. Opening and closing his fingers, touching one with the other. Then a blast of his warbles and trills tumbled out of his mouth. His hands flew to his face, touching, exploring, tangling in his black coiled hair.

"Maze! Maze, it's me!" He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his cheek. "It feels so real." His voice turned wistful. "Is it real?"

"It's real if you want it to be. That's how the Power works."

"I have Power." The laugh that erupted from him was melodic. "He cast me out. I am not of Him anymore. Maze, do you know what my name means? Samael, it means poison." He rose up on his knees and took her hands. "I don't have to stay as He made me. I can choose." He grinned and opened his eyes again to watch his skin go from pale and smooth to red and scarred and back again.

He sat straighter, proud, grinning even more broadly. "If I can change this," he sneered as he gestured to his face, "then why not my name? I don't have to be what He named me." His wings began to emanate light again, weakly at first but growing brighter before dimming. "I'm The Light-bringer."

Maze chuckled. "Right, so I just call you Light-bringer?" She gave him a playful shove and pulled him back down to the the bedroll. "Scoot over, Light-bringer." She didn't understand all he said, but far more important was the Power that Sam—or whatever name he wanted to go by now—had shown. This changed everything.

He snorted and shifted to the side so she could lie beside him on the bedroll. "No, no, no, I am the Light-bringer. My name is Lucifer."

* * *

Notes:

Co-written with miah . arthur

Hi, we've enjoyed writing this story and there is a lot more story in this series we are ready to tell.  
We will post new content on a weekly basis.  
Motivation is everything, so please take a moment and leave us a brief line of encouragement.  
And don't forget to keep an eye out for what's coming next! 😀 (Fridays!)


	8. Stir Crazy: 1 To the Market

_Originally posted as a separate story, Stir Crazy, now compiled in one story doc as the series continues. Sorry for any confusion. _

**Stir Crazy: 1/5 To the Market  
**

**Summary**

First Days of Hell AU (Pt 2). Lucifer is bored. How much trouble can one fallen angel find in Hell?  
He is determined to find out.

* * *

"The wind is rising; we need to leave now," Maze yelled.

Lucifer ignored her.

He stood on the wall, wind buffeting his wings. The sensation of air rushing between his feathers conjured memories of flying. In his mind's eye, he saw starlight. His skin tingled with the ghost of hot sunshine on his bare skin.

The illusion didn't last long. He pulled the scarf closer over his mouth and nose to keep from breathing in the ash and tucked the bare skin of his arms under his cloak. There was nothing sufficient to protect his wings. The ash coated his feathers, dulling the stunning white gleam to a muddy gray.

In the Silver City, things were ordered and measured with precision and obsession. But not here. The passage of time didn't concern Maze. Each cycle of waking and sleeping, of ashfall and wind, was the same, yet imprecise. It made the measure of time untrustworthy despite its sameness, in a way that confounded yet fascinated him.

He understood so little of this world. He wanted to explore it and discover its secrets. Was this chaos and mystery not what he wished for back in the pristine, brilliant, colorless walls of the Silver City where nothing ever slipped out of place?

Wind-blown ash ruffled his feathers and stuck to his skin.

He could do without the ash and filth.

An instinctive response made his wings twitch with the need to flick and shake the grime off, but experience taught him it only stirred up more ash from the ground to swirl up in the air and recoat them. He'd done it once inside Maze's dome. It got the ash out. Inside the dome. Where it stuck to everything. The last thing he wanted was to spend another wind avoiding Maze's dirty looks as they cleaned ash off the walls and shelves. It was far better to put up with the ash and the grime.

He extended his wings to their full span and relished one last gust of wind through the feathers. Dead, barren rocks and crags cut the landscape into sharp, razor edges. The blowing ash obscured the horizon, the undulating, rippling, rolling veil allowing only hints of what lay beyond. Unseen multitudes of small vicious beasts hid among the caves and crevices. Or so Maze told him.

_Beasts_. He turned toward the collective. The Spire rose to the right, a great and towering presence with balconies and windows etched into its surface. His skin crawled at the sight, so he cast his eyes downward instead. Immediately below, closest to the wall, the domes were burned out husks. No one lived here. Farther, the domes became more uniform, the lanes haphazardly connected without rhyme or reason. Beyond that, almost completely obscured by the driving winds and blowing ash, he could make out the forms of the tents and shacks of the market—the stalls sealed and deserted until the next ashfall.

"_Now_, Lucifer!" Maze shouted.

He flexed his wings up against his back. A particularly strong gust of wind caught him, leaving him off balance. His wings reflexively snapped back into extension, and the wind caught them and dragged him backward.

A strong grip on his forearm prevented him from plummeting backward off the wall. Maze. His wings had the strength to prevent a crash into the harsh landscape. But flying? He hadn't tried that yet; the feathers felt new and untested, and the memory of falling was stronger than the memory of flying. If his life depended on it, he could hold them extended to drift, but did he have the strength to leave the ground and fly back into the stronghold? He didn't want to contemplate his fate if he landed outside the wall.

It was a close call, they both knew it, but Maze only spared him a disparaging look before stalking off.

As the wind continued to rise, Lucifer held the scarf over his face and concentrated on taking shallow breaths while Maze led them through the confusing and narrow network of lanes linking the domes. Maze didn't spare a glance as she pulled him along, passing through the burnt-out, deserted section closest to the wall. Nor did she allow him a chance to take a closer look at this deserted area. As the winds picked up speed, they hurried past the dilapidated domes inhabited by silent, glaring Lilim with interestingly monstrous features, and to their own area where the domes were larger and more secure. Lucifer had to squint to make out Maze's form as the ash grew ever thicker in the air.

He stumbled inside and leaned against the wall, pulling the scarf from his mouth and taking great gasps of clean air. Maze secured the door fold with leather ties, and with the door fixed in place, she turned on him and yanked him forward to untie his cloak.

She didn't say a word, and Lucifer stood, pliantly, as she undressed him. She may have won the argument about wearing body coverings outside of the dome, but there was no way he'd keep the ghastly things on when it wasn't necessary. She hung the coverings on a hook on the wall and began reviving the hearth fire. "Sit."

"Why?" He cleared his throat and coughed. One cough set off a reaction of further coughing until he grabbed a water skin and took a long drink.

She glared, and he glared back, until she shrugged and ignored him. Having settled the small battle of wills, victorious, he took a seat beside her.

"Are you cold?"

"I'm fine, Maze." And that was another thing she'd not let go of easily, nor was it easy for him to forget the deep frigid ache in his stiff limbs when she came to him in the darkness below the Spire...

The shiver that seized him at the memory prompted Maze to toss another bundle of dried moss on the fire. Lucifer wasn't going to say he didn't appreciate the extra warmth.

"I want to see the market."

"What do you need?"

"Nothing."

"Then why do you want to go?"

He knew she'd ask for justification. She'd done the same when he suggested going out to stretch his wings. Even after agreeing, she only took him at the end of ashfall and through the least populated of lanes.

"I can't hide in your dome forever."

"You aren't hiding." Maze shrugged. "Isn't going to the wall enough?"

"No!"

"It's not a good idea."

"Why not?"

"It'll make the Lilim curious."

As if going outside and stopping a storm using a Power he never knew he had didn't make the Lilim curious. "They're already curious."

"You aren't ready."

At this rate he'd never be ready. "How do I get ready?"

"I'll let you know."

Frustrated, he stood up and paced, wings twitching in his agitation. "I'm bored, Maze. Your dome is better than the Spire, but I'm still a captive, aren't I?"

Mazikeen stood and stepped in his way. "I'm not holding you captive."

He swept his arm around the small dome. "Kind of feels like you are."

"I'm keeping you safe. There's a difference."

"I'm whole again, Maze," Lucifer said, spreading out his arms and wings despite the cramped space. "They won't find me as easy a target this time."

"If I take you out, Anilith will hear about your wings."

"You don't think she heard about how I calmed the storm? Not many of your neighbors missed that!" He sidestepped Maze and resumed pacing. "In the Spire, she knew everything I did, and I've seen the fat little creature who lurks outside your dome. He reports back to her; I'm sure of it."

"I didn't think you were aware of him."

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "You'd be surprised what I'm aware of." Maze blocked his path, and he huffed at the obstruction. "I've no doubt Anilith already knows about my wings. Take me to the market next ashfall. I'm tired of being cooped up in here. I want to see the Collective."

"You aren't Lilim."

"So?"

Maze shook her head. "Fine. But you have to stay close to me. Don't talk to anyone."

He perked up, glad she was seeing reason. "Yes, yes, it's a deal." He grinned and the tension inside melted away. "Not just there and back. I want to look around."

"You might as well check your leatherwork. See if you've made anything worth trading."

None of his work was trade worthy yet, but his crafting was getting closer to Maze's style the more he practiced. There wasn't much else to do. The winds were growing ever stronger, and the now familiar and soothing howl isolated them from the rest of the Collective. When the winds were high, you were safe. No one dared venture out to interfere or interrupt. The hearth fire blazed. Maze's dome grew comfortably warm, and Lucifer lounged on his bedroll staring up at the shadows cast on the ceiling.

"I won't be imprisoned again."

Maze lay on her side, facing him. "You won't. I will fight them if they try."

Lucifer grinned and faced Maze, one arm tucked under his head. "And this time, I'll be ready to fight with you."

Lucifer shoved a few belts and small pieces of armor Maze crafted into a bag to take with him to the Market. Maze puttered around. He was certain it was intentional to prolong his anticipation as he waited for her to be ready.

"I could go on my own."

"No, you can't. You don't know how to get there."

"It's to the right of the Spire."

Maze snorted, "You'd never find your way through the lanes."

The lanes wouldn't be a problem if he could fly. She'd not scoff at him then. How did these creatures live trapped on the ground? As soon as he was flight ready, he was going to…

What would he do? Leave the collective? He didn't know the terrain. He didn't know how to find shelter from the winds or how to find fungus and mosses to eat. There were other collectives out there, but he risked landing in another situation like Anilith or worse. He hadn't forgotten Ovtig, who'd given him his first taste of the cruelty Lilim were capable of.

And there was Maze. He'd never leave her behind.

"Ready?" he asked.

Maze helped him put on the strange clothes and tied them in place. He slipped his own feet into the sandals but she brushed his hands away as he knelt to tie them. She'd long ago given up on trying to teach him how to tie them right. It mattered little when he rarely left the dome and had no cause to wear them.

"Stay by my side," Maze warned. "The entire time."

"Yes, yes," he assured her, but he was eager to see the market for himself, occupied and alive, not the closed up shelters and tents that he'd seen from the wall. "Will a lot of your people be there?"

"Yes."

"Anyone else?"

"Any what?"

"Others who aren't Lilim?"

"There are no others. Only you."

He nodded, expecting as much.

"Don't talk to anyone."

He'd heard this before when she'd prepared him for their walk to the wall where he stretched his wings. "I know, Maze."

She tied the scarf around his neck. "If you have trouble breathing, pull this up."

"I know." He tugged at it; the snug fit reminded him of the cord around his neck as Tiraq… He shoved the memory away. Adventure awaited him!

She held up the goggles to fasten them over his eyes, but he batted her hand away. "I can't see with those on."

"If the wind picks up—"

"Maze, are we ready to go?" he interrupted and put the goggles back on the hook on the wall.

She got herself dressed next, moving with an efficiency and dexterity that he admired. The pressure and weight and unnatural restriction of the garments annoyed him, but if wearing these inconvenient body coverings was the price he must pay to explore and experience new things, he'd pay it. He'd even pursue the skills to apply them himself. Maze often told him he dressed himself no better than a spawn, whatever that meant, so he let her dress him without argument. She _was_ faster.

Finally, _finally,_ they exited the dome and Lucifer stretched, reveling in the open space. The fat toad he was sure was a spy of Anilith rose to his feet. Those who gathered outside, a group of Lilim having a spitting contest on the lane, stopped to stare. Lucifer held his head high, unwilling to falter under their looks.

Maze grabbed his wrist and yanked him along, ruining the effect.

Describing the lanes of the collective as a labyrinth implied planning, forethought. This was pure chaos. Lilim added onto their domes in whatever direction suited them, and if that direction blocked off an entire section of lane, well that was someone else's problem.

One amusing story Maze told him was about a Lilim pack who got trapped in their dome when other Lilim built over their doorway. It resulted in the shut-ins digging their way through their neighbor's wall, a fight breaking out and an entire lane pitted against each other. Good times, with plenty of sport and blood.

He didn't disagree; it sounded fantastically amusing, and he hoped to see such a brawl in person.

Every building and alley was different and his focus flitted from one to the next, no attention spared for the route they took. Intricate lines and carvings decorated larger domes. One that Maze had to drag him past was lined with bones of various lengths. One bone, a column, stood taller than himself. Teeth and claws hung from chains in open doorways and clinked together ominously.

Lilim stopped and stared down every lane they walked, just as fascinated by him as he was of them. No one interfered, but voices rose as soon as they passed. Whispered Lilim speech was much harder to understand than when they spoke outright, but he caught key phrases, such as angel, wings, feathers, and harvest.

Short, rapid footfalls dogged them through every turn, telling Lucifer that the round one he suspected of spying followed behind.

"Here we are."

They emerged from the lanes into a large open area: no domes, but shacks and tent shelters lined the square with tables set up to display their wares. A platform stage rose in the middle of the square, a cross beam prominent on top. Next to it, a crowd shouted and jeered at something obscured among them.

He'd known by the size of the collective that a multitude of Lilim lived within the walls, but he'd never expected to see so many in one place, nor for them to be so loud. Even negotiating at the stalls required shouting.

He took a step back as a stick swung in front of his face. The foul odor of dead flesh filled his nose as a misshapen, hunched Lilim carrying a pole with pieces of small dead creatures hanging from it waddled up to Maze.

"Snack!" the seller shouted, but Maze snarled and showed her teeth, and he moved on.

Maze tightened her hold on his hand and pulled him forward, passing to the side of the excited crowd. Lucifer stretched to see what they were so interested in—there it was, a fight.

With a raucous yell, the crowd parted as one of the fighters fell, tumbling full force into Maze. She stumbled, and Lucifer reached to catch her, but the crowd reformed, surrounding the fighter again, jeering, encouraging Maze to join in the fun.

Something tugged against his wing, and he turned, spotting a short Lilim with her fist clenched around one of his long feathers. As if healthy plumes were so easy to extract. This Lilim's stature was slighter than the other's, and as soon as she saw Lucifer's eyes on her, she ran. He reached out, intent on grabbing her arm, but missed.

Something else pressed against his back and he was pushed forward. Where had they come from? The crowd was so thick now that the fighters within were obscured, and Maze was nowhere to be seen. Had she joined the fray?

He stepped aside and around, intent on getting a better view to find her. Had he been near the sharpening hut before?

A giant tooth rested on a chair beside the stall. It was easily the size of his arm, and Lucifer forgot about finding Maze for the moment. "Is it real?" He looked at the seller and grinned. "How big is the creature it came from? Have you seen one? Did you kill it yourself?" He reached out to touch it, and the Lilim behind the table slapped his hand. Lucifer recoiled and glared.

The vendor's words sounded familiar, but they weren't pronounced the way Maze spoke them. If the Lilim talked slower…

The vendor stepped out from behind his table, brandishing a large club carved out of bone and still shouting. Lucifer stepped away, unsure how to respond. The bone club was shoved at Lucifer's face, right up under his nose.

Lucifer swept out his arm, knocking the offensive weapon away, and accidently causing it to snap in half. The action incensed the vendor further, his face turning a deep purple as he bared his sharpened, curved fangs.

Lucifer turned his head to the side as the putrid breath reached his nose. "Oh, you might want to brush those sometime. Maze buys a kind of moss that you can—"

The taunting advice was not taken kindly, and this time the bone club swung at his head.

Lucifer blocked the blow with his arm. This was not the Spire. He was no longer at the mercy of his tormentors, and no one was going to get away with hitting him ever again.

The club struck him below the elbow, and his wings extended in full fury, curving forward, the sharp edges of the primaries threatening the merchant.

The vendor started screeching.

Someone short and slender snuck in to the side and grabbed his wrist.

A horde of Lilim stared. Someone shouted, "_Beast attack! The beast attacked Kobar!_"

Where? What beast? _Oh_. They meant him. All eyes were on him now. This was not what he intended when he defended himself. Would the guards from the Spire be summoned? Was this enough to have him taken away from Maze? He'd suffered the consequences for defending himself from Lilim before. He hadn't thought—but that was the problem. _He hadn't thought._

A round female with horns pointed her clawed fingers right at him shrieking, "_Beast! Get him! Call the guard!_"

_Beast_. He hated when they called him that. Hands grabbed at his cloak. Claws scraped against his cheek, painful and tearing at his skin. Warm blood ran down his face.

Under the noise, a softer tone, sharp but steady, said, "Come hide with us." The slender Lilim yanked on his arm and darted into the crowd. He flexed his wings tight against his back and chased after her.

They raced together through a narrow path, into a tent that smelled of bitter spices, out a slit in the back, along a lane and to the right, through another passage leading to more domes darker and smaller than the ones he'd seen on the way, and into a low doorway.

It was dark until a candle was lit and mounted on a bracket on the wall.

The short, slender Lilim grinned, and Lucifer recognized her as the one who had pulled his feather. Three others filed into the small space, and he backed up. Was this a trap? He wouldn't be an easy target. The dome was too narrow for him to extend his wings, so he brought up his fists, ready to defend himself.

The slender female turned to the others, who grinned, darting and bouncing around the small space.

They started talking, their voices rushed, higher-pitched than Maze's. They spoke too fast, the syllables rushing together.

One of the males pulled a bone-handled knife with a sharpened tooth blade from the folds of his wrapped outerwear and held it up triumphantly, not as a threat but as though showing off a prize. The one with the ornate knife—hadn't he seen that on the bone-seller's table?—cheered and hopped in place. He crowed and passed the knife to the female of the group.

Lucifer eyed the female carefully as she turned to him. He'd seen enough of the Lilim to understand that she must be the leader of the group. She spoke too fast. He caught the words "beast" and "fight." But the meaning was still unclear.

She stopped and smiled at him, teeth bared. Lucifer knew some teeth-bared smiles were friendly, and some were displays of dominance. This was friendly—he thought. The group of them jumped around more, stomping and laughing.

He'd thought he had a better grasp of the Lilim language and frustration welled inside at his inability to understand. "Slower, I can't follow what you're staying!"

She glanced back at her group before stepping closer. "Your voice is strange." The words were very slow this time, and louder.

"So is yours," he retorted.

She called back to her friends. "Mazikeen taught it to talk." That made them laugh. "You talk really good for a beast."

"My name is Lucifer."

"Is that what you are? I thought you were angel-kind?"

"I'm an angel. My _name_ is Lucifer."

And they found that hilarious. He'd never seen Lilim who laughed so much. Maze didn't. The smallest male standing behind the others fell and rolled around with mirth.

Lucifer's wings twitched.

"Warrior Mazikeen named her beast!" The male snorted and rocked side to side.

Lucifer stepped around to exit, but the female jumped in his way. "Dromos told my spawn-brood about the friend-beasts lone warriors train as companions. It's okay to name things you don't intend to eat."

"I'm not a—" Lucifer began.

The third bared his teeth and brandished a large hunk of flesh on a stick, holding it up triumphantly. "Eat!" The four of them converged and started tearing off hunks to stuff in their mouths.

Lucifer watched with morbid fascination.

The one with the knife wiped the blood off his lips and turned to Lucifer. "Can you do that again?"

"Do what?"

"Start a fight!" The female reached over to grab a chunk of the flesh off the stick and held it out to him. She smiled. "Want some? You earned it."

"No," he said, taking a step away from the dripping dead thing. "I should head back."

She grabbed his hand before he could go. "No, Beast, stay, we've never seen anything like you before. Talk more; your voice is funny."

"I told you, my _name _is Lucifer."

"Fraq," she introduced herself. She was sticky. When she let him go, he wiped his hand on his cloak to get rid of whatever it was he'd contracted from her.

A yell and a crash from outside the dome stopped him. It was the vendor from the market. The seller rushed in, swinging a large sword. The tip clanged against the wall on his backswing. The Lilim scurried across the room to avoid getting slashed, but not before Fraq cried out in pain.

Lucifer stepped forward, wings extending despite the small space. "Enough."

The bone and tooth seller growled at him with disdain, "A beast has no right speaking—"

Anger surged within Lucifer as he lost his temper. He was tired of being called a beast, tired of being threatened, and this bone seller had hurt these unthreatening little Lilim! Flames ignited under his skin, blistering. Heat spread over his body, shifting his skin as the glamour burned away and the horrifying, raw, scarred skin emerged.

The vendor stumbled back. The sword clattered to the floor as his grip went slack on the weapon.

Lucifer advanced. "You will _not—_"

"Lucifer!" Maze appeared in the doorway, grabbed the vendor by the back of his clothing, and yanked him out the door into the lane.

At Maze's voice, Lucifer stepped back. The heat built up in his body extinguished. His skin smoothed and concealed under the glamour of his former self.

And his wings vanished.

Not flexed and retracted. Vanished. Gone! The change in his center of gravity knocked him off balance, and he stumbled into the wall.

The four Lilim around him scurried out the door and scattered. He could still hear Maze yelling at the vendor outside. Lucifer stood alone in the small dilapidated dome. Without his wings. He couldn't catch his breath. His wings were gone. _Where had they gone?_

Not inside his body. He rolled his shoulders trying to feel—

And with a whoosh of air they unfurled, complete and whole and real.

Unsteadily, he rolled his shoulders, barely daring to think—

Another whoosh of air. He felt them recede—to where? Somewhere away. Somewhere he could feel them waiting to be released again.

Maze re-entered the dome and grabbed his arm, jerking him forward to follow her. She didn't ask about the wings, or their disappearance. She didn't even look at him. Her face crumpled in a way he'd learned to recognize as angry. And was it any wonder? She'd warned him to stay close, not to speak to other Lilim, and what had he done? Not only did he upset one of them, but he'd attacked them. He wasn't difficult to identify. There were bound to be consequences.

Out in the lane the vendor was nowhere to be seen.

"Maze—"

"Not now," Maze growled, as she continued to drag him, stumbling and unbalanced, through the lanes and passages.

Nothing looked familiar. This wasn't the way she'd brought him to the market. Were there other ways? Was she taking him somewhere else?

Relief flooded through him at the sight of Maze's dome.

She pushed him through a door and he blinked against the sudden darkness.

Maze grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, her hand on his back. "Who did this to you?"

"Maze, I can't see in the dark," he said impatiently.

She pulled away from him and struck fire stones. Light flared and a candle lit.

He sighed with relief, but the tension didn't leave his shoulders.

Maze's hands were on him, pulling at his clothes to expose his back as she prodded at his shoulder blades.

Oh, his wings. Of course she was worried about that. She'd be furious if he lost the one part of him the Lilim valued.

It shocked him too. If he could do this all along, why couldn't he have learned it earlier? Like before his enemies at the Spire tore out his feathers.

Lucifer stepped back and rolled his shoulders, unfurling his wings to show he still had them. The action was easier every time he tried it. He made a conscious effort not to pull away as she reached out to touch a feather, but couldn't control the nervous twitch of the wing as she did so.

A moment later she punched his arm. Hard. "Have you been able to do this all along?"

"No. I didn't know." The force of her punch would leave a bruise, but he didn't shy away. Another roll of the shoulder allowed him to draw them back in, to whatever place they went to when they disappeared.

The heat that had run through him when he'd shifted back to his scarred appearance had disappeared when his glamour returned. All that was left was a tingling sensation over his skin from the blazing pain fueled by his anger. The sudden dousing of his inner fire left him feeling chilled and hollowed out.

Maze reached for his hand, her touch gentle this time. "I couldn't find you—" she started but broke off. "You're cold. Why are you so cold?" The heat of her touch burned.

The rapid cycling of Maze's mood left him feeling uncertain, and he remained standing where he was when she turned away to start the hearth fire.

"Maze?" As much as he'd wanted to experience Lilim life beyond Mazikeen's dome, he wanted nothing so much as to return to the comfort and familiarity of Maze's attention. "The vendor—"

"You did well." She got up and draped a blanket over his shoulders and led him to sit.

What?

"Word about the beating you gave Kobar has already spread through the collective." She grinned and slapped his shoulder.

"But I didn't."

Maze smirked. "What would you call breaking the bone seller's club in the square? You scared him so bad he dropped his sword and wet himself. You didn't even have to touch him."

"What about the Spire? _Consequences_?"

Maze spat. "The Spire takes no interest in the personal interactions of Lilim."

"I'm not Lilim."

"I'm Lilim, and you're mine. An insult to you is an insult to me." She turned and regarded him. "You are unharmed? Did that motherless swine strike you?"

"I blocked his attack, I'm fine."

"Good." She placed her hand over his and grinned, all teeth. "How did you enjoy your first trip to the market?"


	9. Stir Crazy: 2 Distractions

**Stir Crazy: 2/5 Distractions**

* * *

"Maze, I want to go back to the market."

"We just went. Wasn't the incident last time enough?"

"I didn't get to look at anything last time." Lucifer rolled onto his back, a much easier maneuver since learning to tuck his wings away, and resisted the urge to grumble. "It's been five ashfalls since you took me. We haven't even gone to the wall since."

"I thought you'd be done with the urge to explore."

He wasn't defenseless like he'd been before. With the damage to his wings finally healed, and his divinity laced feathers re-grown, he'd even discovered that he could hide them away. He stared at Maze from the corner of his eye and let out a long sigh. "I do not enjoy being trapped in here all the time."

"No one is trapping you," she answered in a bored tone.

"I'm not exactly free to leave either, am I? Take me back to the market, Maze."

"I don't need anything."

"I'll go by myself."

"Good luck with that."

"You don't think I can?"

"I never said that. I said good luck."

"And…you won't stop me?"

"Why would I? Like I said, you're not trapped here."

He sat up. "Okay." That meant he had to get dressed. He chose the tunic and leggings instead of the chiton wrap and pulled on his cloak.

"Don't forget sandals," Maze reminded him.

Sandals. He sat to put them on. How did Maze do the string around his foot? He did it, sort of, and stood up, only to have the sandal fall off his foot. Maze glanced over and groaned. "Stand still, I'll do it."

She undid the mess he made and wrapped it properly. He tried to watch her fingers do the movements, but she was too fast. But it was done and secure. The ties weren't going to unravel now.

Maze gave him coins. "You can get lunch from a vendor in the square. You remember the way?"

"Of course." He knew the general direction. He was sure he'd recognise landmarks along the way. How hard could it be?

He wasn't lost. He knew exactly where he was in relation to the Spire.

The Spire loomed over all other structures. There was nowhere in the collective that it wasn't visible. The market should be to the right of it.

Logically, if he continued taking the lanes that led in the direction he intended, he should be able to get to where he wanted to go.

But there was no logic to this. Everything around him was unfamiliar. He'd taken a lane that twisted around and now the Spire was at his back. If he found a way to switch lanes… But the domes here pressed together, leaving no room to sneak between. Maybe if he turned around, he'd find a passageway he'd missed earlier…

He paused and looked around. An intense sensation of being watched set his nerves on edge.

There was Anilith's spy. He stood in the distance and looked away every time Lucifer turned towards him. The lackey was useless; he'd tried to ask him for directions and in response the short Lilim had curled up into a ball and pretended to be a rock.

It was no wonder he felt like he was being watched. The useless spy notwithstanding, the Lilim he walked past stared, as they always did. Even with his wings hidden, they instantly recognized him as _not one of them_.

The whispers rose in volume as he moved through the streets. Maybe they thought he couldn't hear them, but he doubted they cared.

No, he suspected they said the things they did because they _knew_ he heard them.

_There it is, the beast._

_Where's its handler?_

_You'll be cursed, don't let it touch you. _

_It corrupts the air it breathes._

_Did you hear it didn't rot when it died? _

Lucifer walked on and ignored the taunts. There was so much else to pay attention to.

He was forced to live here, in this wasteland, but he would not let it destroy him. The stench and filth and disorder around him… He couldn't help but be intrigued by it. How could a city not be planned? The rough domes the Lilim made for themselves scattered haphazardly in every direction, with no consideration for the lanes or neighbors.

The random chaos of it brought a smile to his lips. It was so different from…

He rejected thoughts of the Silver City. Not with all this to explore.

This chaos, the anarchy of everyone doing what they wanted, when they wanted, and how, it was intoxicating.

He stopped when he came to another dead end. This should've been the correct way. Maybe if he backtracked, found a different turn, another lane might lead him in the correct direction.

And again he had the sense that he wasn't alone...

A rock landed near his foot and he stilled, alert and rigid, as he searched for the source of the potential threat. But there was only laughter.

"Where are you going?"

The short, slender Lilim group that had pulled him away from the commotion in the market square slunk along behind, all four of them, careful not to move too near any of the lounging Lilim around them.

Lucifer sighed. "The market."

"You're going the wrong way."

"Then where is the right way?"

The loud female of the bunch eyed him. "What do we get out of it if we show you?"

"My gratitude?"

They laughed and scattered. Lucifer searched for them, but they knew their way around these buildings far too well. So be it. He'd find his own way. Eventually. He backtracked, turned left instead of right, and found himself headed away from the Spire instead of toward it. Fine. Maybe going contradictory to logic was the way to go. Using logic to navigate the lanes hadn't worked so far.

The path took him toward the wall. This wasn't the part of the wall Maze took him to, but it wasn't any less dilapidated. He walked slower, staring. The domes looked ready to collapse, but Lilim still lived in them. A growl rumbled from the open door of the nearest one and he moved on.

A small crowd had formed behind him, following at a distance. He'd thought nothing of it when there were two Lilim following, the annoying ones were still gone, and now there were five more he didn't recognise. He turned at the next lane; they tagged at his heels.

"Show us your wings!" a low guttural voice taunted him.

Lucifer stopped and turned to face them. They'd grown bold. Hadn't they heard about his escapade in the market and Maze's threat that an offense against him was an offense against her? But Maze wasn't with him now, was she?

Better to face them head-on.

These Lilim were different. No two Lilim seemed to look alike, and they all had certain irregular features: exposed bone, fangs, claws, fur, horns, spines. The exposed bone covering half of Maze's face had a captivating asymmetrical beauty. These Lilims' unique features fascinated him in both quantity and quality. The burly one at the front stooped forward with spines rising out of his back, his arms so long his knuckles touched the ground, and large teeth jutted up from his bottom jaw.

The big Lilim lumbered forward, mouth open and teeth bared in a show of dominance. "Show us the angel wings!"

"These?" he asked, relaxing the hold on his wings, allowing them to release into existence with a powerful flourish.

The group of Lilim stepped back. Lucifer smiled and took a step toward them. A roundish Lilim with a long tail growled and crouched low, as though ready to pounce.

He hadn't expected an actual fight. But, if they wanted to test him, _good, bring it on_. He was tired of listening to taunts and insults whispered behind his back. He could fight. He'd show them an angel's true strength. Or, what he had left of it.

Lucifer relished the surge of power welling inside him, and his wings flexed in anticipation. Light reflected off drifting ash as his feathers took on a luminous glow, and the group of Lilim shielded their eyes. They didn't retreat. He extended his wings up as far as he could reach, still frustratingly stiff and slow, but he was the only one aware of that.

They stared, open-jawed.

He was ready. Lucifer swooshed his wings down in a powerful motion, lifting ash in a swirling, deadly cloud, and sent the Lilim standing in the front of the crowd flying backward.

This time they fled. Lucifer held his wings out offensively for a heartbeat longer before sweeping them back and hiding them with a roll of his shoulders. He coughed and brushed at his clothes to get rid of the ash that he'd stirred and sighed. The lane was empty now, and he was just as lost as he'd been before.

Except for the infuriating feeling of being watched.

"Show yourself! I know you're there!" he shouted.

Rapid footsteps approached him from behind.

"Do it again!"

Lucifer turned to face the speaker, a scrawny male from the group of annoying small Lilim who'd been tailing him earlier. "Go away."

All four of them were poking their heads out of their hiding spots now. "You're going the wrong way," the smallest called out in a sing-song tone.

He stopped walking. At this point, he'd backtracked so many times he wasn't sure if he could find his way back to Maze's dome. He was lost; two knuckles' worth of ash lay on the ground, and he wasn't any closer to getting where he wanted to go. He turned around kept walking.

"Why don't you fly?" the female asked, skipping up to his side.

"I don't want to."

"You can't, can you?" she taunted. "What are the wings for if you can't use them to fly?"

"I can fly."

"If you could, you wouldn't be walking."

She had a point. Lucifer resisted the itch to spread his wings. "I can't fly _right now_. But I _can_ fly."

"Why can't you fly?" she asked, smirking.

He wish he knew. "Do you ever stop?"

They made whooping noises that he assumed were another form of laughter. He sighed. "What do you want in return for escorting me to the market?"

"A favor."

"And that's not an answer." He swiveled between the paths. If he went right… No. He recognised the dead thing hanging on the spike down the lane. He'd been that way.

"Distract the vendors like you did that other time," she suggested. Her three cohorts bobbed their heads in agreement.

"I didn't do that on purpose." He chose the left path, the way he hadn't gone before.

"You're going the wrong way."

He let out an exasperated breath and stopped. "What kind of distraction?"

"We need everyone distracted from their stalls long enough to grab what we want and get out."

"Why should they care what I'm doing?"

She snickered. "Everyone wants to know what you're doing. Haven't you noticed?"

It would be hard not to. "And when they figure out what I've done, what then?"

"They'll admire our ingenuity," she stated, chest puffing out with pride.

That gave him pause. "Really?"

"Yeah. Not only will we have snatched their wares out from under their snouts, but we'll have enlisted the help of Mazikeen's beast. We'll be infamous."

"I told you before, my name is Lucifer."

The Lilim rolled her eyes. "Do you remember my name?"

"Fraq."

She grinned and showed off her sharp fangs. "Do we have a deal?"

"Yes. Now, how do we get to the market?" Lucifer asked.

They laughed and turned around, heading the way he'd chosen before they told him he was going the wrong way. He grumbled but followed.

They reached a dead end and Lucifer scoffed. "You don't know where you're going either."

"This way," Fraq said. She climbed the side of a dome. Lucifer paused, and she waved him along. "Quick."

He saw the step chipped out of the dome and placed his foot on it. "Like this?"

One of the males behind him started hopping. "Quick, quick," he panted and pushed at Lucifer's back. Lucifer glanced behind and saw a group of Lilim approaching. The one in front sported myriad nubbins of horns along the ridges of his bald head. He brandished a club. That answered Lucifer's next question. He gripped the side of the dome and tried to hoist himself up like Fraq did, but his foot slipped out of his sandal.

He kicked them off, grabbed them, and climbed with bare feet instead. The rough stone and clay cut into his skin, but at least he had a modicum of grace when he felt the ground under him.

Fraq grabbed his wrist and pulled him along the lane and into a crumbling, deserted dome to hide. She crouched beside the door, listening before letting out a puff of breath and turning to him. "That was crazy. Why did you take off your sandals?" She didn't wait for an answer, she just shook her head. "Hurry, put them back on. We should go before anyone else comes along."

"What about the others?"

She peeked out the door and glanced both ways. "They know where to go, I'm sure they'll meet us at the market."

Lucifer wiped the blood off the bottom of his feet, wincing at the ash that got into the stinging cuts.

"Hurry up," she urged him. She frowned as she watched him bend to tie the thing back on his foot. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" He laced the ends and wrapped them over.

Fraq snorted. "You're like a spawn," she giggled and crouched in front of him. "Not like that. Like this." She took over and twisted the strings around his foot. "See?"

No. He didn't see at all. Foot coverings only got in the way and walking was severely overrated. How any of these creatures got anywhere by moving on their legs was beyond him.

At least the sandals were secure now.

Fraq tugged him out of the dome and scurried along the lane. "Why did your handler send you to the market alone?"

Lucifer shook off her hand, but she latched back onto his wrist a moment later. "First, Maze is not my handler."

She snorted and spat on the ground. "Maze? You call the warrior Mazikeen 'Maze'?"

He ignored that. "Second, I don't need permission to leave the dome." Once again, he shook off her hand from his wrist.

"You can't even tie your own sandals. There's no way any nest minder would let a whelp out without knowing how to cover their feet properly."

The deal he made for an escort to the market was getting less enticing every time the slender Lilim opened her mouth. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Exactly," she answered, smug as can be.

She re-grabbed his hand with her perpetually sticky paw and pulled him to the far side of the lane as they passed a large, ornate dome with various Lilim lounging out front of it. "What is this place?" There were columns near the front entrance, and carvings of various unique anatomic bits and pieces fit snugly against each other. He slowed to inspect.

Fraq tugged him along and averted her gaze from the entrance of the dome as they hurried past. "Come, we can't stop here. Throwbacks keep to their own kind."

"Kind?" He whipped his head around trying to see what she referred to, but he only saw more Lilim, fangs and claws hanging out in all their monstrous splendor. "I thought Lilim were the only kind in the collective."

"No, I mean," she began, bringing her voice to a whisper. "Throwbacks. You've noticed we don't all look similar."

"Fangs, horns, hooves, the teeth. It's difficult not to notice."

"Throwbacks live around here."

"Non-Lilim?"

"No, of course not. Still us, but, less like The Mother. Monstrous, like the First-Sires."

That made no sense. Fraq glanced to the side, and pointed to her face, the side with the larger, yellow and black slit eye. "Like this, but all over."

Lucifer tried to turn to continue examining the carvings, but Fraq yanked him forward. "It's not far from here to the lane that'll take us to the market. You'll hold up your part of the deal?"

"Yes, yes." He tore his arm away from her. "There's one thing I need to do before I make your distraction for you."

She grinned and hopped as she skipped ahead. "This is it, follow this lane and turn right at the weaver." And she ran off.

He followed the directions, turning where she said and sure enough, there it was. Finally. He spotted the tool vendor across the square and headed that way.

The seller clicked her claws on the surface of her table. "No beasts."

He placed Maze's coin on the table. "For Maze—Mazikeen." Her full name did not sound right as he spoke it. By the smirk on the seller's face, he'd badly fumbled the pronunciation.

The seller spat to the side, her lip fat with something that turned her spit dark brown. "What does Mazikeen want?"

He pointed at a metal spike Maze used for poking holes into hide. He forgot the name. "The tool for poking holes," he explained and pointed.

The seller followed his line of sight to the box and then stared at Lucifer. "You mean the punch awl? Nah, we don't have any of those."

Lucifer clenched his jaw. It was right there, what did she mean she didn't have any? "You would refuse a sale to Mazikeen?"

The seller spat near Lucifer's feet and turned away, refusing to acknowledge him.

No. He'd spent two knuckles…three now, of ashfall trying to get here, and he wouldn't be deterred so easily. What other stalls might have the tool he needed? He didn't bother going near the bone trophy seller or the dead flesh tables. A stall across the square sold finished products. He headed there.

The vendor turned her back.

Indignation burned within him. He turned and surveyed the market. Why had he assumed it would be easy? Fine. He spotted the slender Lilim he'd made the deal with lurking at the exit to the lane; the three smaller males were back with her.

A deal was a deal.

The Lilim glanced at him, snickering. These were the same whispers he always heard when he came outside, _beast, where are his wings, what happened to his beast face? How dare the beast pretend to be like The Mother? _

He wasn't pretending to be anyone.

Did they want to see him? Good.

An old platform stood in the middle of the square. He recognised what was on it from his imprisonment in the Spire. Crossbars with chains on the ends. For whipping. It stood in the center of the market on a raised platform. As a warning or as entertainment? Both?

The sight of the contraption fueled his anger. Traz and Tiraq had found plenty of uses beyond whipping for the thing. He drew in several deep, slow breaths, letting the anger roll through him.

He had promised a distraction; he'd deliver it. With a roll of his shoulders, he released his wings. It was a physical relief to allow them to manifest as they should be. He stretched his wings into extension, crouched and used them for extra momentum as he leaped up to the platform above. The stiffness ached deep in his bones as he used them to leave the ground, but he ignored it.

On top of the platform, the crossed whipping post behind him, he flared out his wings and looked at the Lilim in the market square and waited for the ash to settle.

He smiled, baring his teeth in the dominant fashion. Everyone was talking at once. That wouldn't do. "Hello, Lilim!" he shouted. His heart beat in a furious rhythm, energy and excitement surged through him as he used his power to project his voice. The crowd quieted.

"I'm sure you recognise me," he started and ignored the angry shout from the side for someone to grab him and drag him off the platform. _How dare the beast speak Lilim!_

Well, he'd only just begun. "I'd like to clear up some confusion. My name is Lucifer. I'm an angel, not a _beast_. I am alive, thank you very much. Now, I've heard plenty of whispering. You've got questions, haven't you? Don't be shy. What do you want to know?"

"Where's your handler?" a screechy voice called from the crowd. "Get him down!"

A rock flew up from the crowd. He dodged it with ease and smirked. "Any other questions?"

"Where'd your skin go!"

He frowned. But, he'd asked for questions. "Do you want to see the _real _me?"

A scuffle drew his attention to the rock's point of origin. Beyond the crowd, he spotted his little guide ducking behind the leather workers' table. He smiled.

They wanted a show? He reached for the darkness within himself, let the heat build within his chest and burst forth over his body. Pain rushed over his skin, but only for a moment, as it changed him. He heard shrieks and exclamations, he certainly had their attention now and he scanned the crowd, pleased at the fear he saw there. Good. They thought of him as nothing more than a beast? Let them be afraid.

Deep within the crowd, he saw a familiar face.

Maze.

What was she doing here? He glanced at his hand, the glamour of his perfect unblemished hand back in place, and back up at Maze making her way toward him.

And the crowd howled in protest. Lucifer jumped down from the platform, his wings spread to control his descent and shrugged them back into hiding as he landed.

"Did you get what you came for?" Maze asked.

He glanced to the right. The leatherworker's stall was empty, and the small Lilim who had helped him were gone. His distraction was successful. The words didn't come when he opened his mouth to tell Maze that the vendor had refused to do business with him. A small shoulder bumped into the back of his elbow and a thin piece of metal pressed against his hand. He gripped it and spotted one of the little males disappearing into the crowd.

"I did what I had to," he told her, flashing the punch awl before shoving it into his bag. But something nagged at him. That sensation of being watched that he'd had earlier, throughout the entire ashfall, had gone away. "It was you, wasn't it?"

"Was what me?"

"Have you been following me this entire time?"

"Why would I do that?"

Why indeed? The taunts of being reined in by his _handler_ echoed in his mind all the way home.


	10. Stir Crazy: 3 Stir Crazy

**Stir Crazy: 3/5 Stir Crazy**

* * *

Lucifer hated being cooped up in the dome. Even with the hearth fire, the perpetual dimness was oppressive. He hated the lack of space to stretch out and how the walls closed in on him. He hated the smell of the moss burning in the hearth and the putrid scent of Maze's dead-flesh-food hanging on the wall. He paced back and forth, three steps one way, three steps the other.

Not that outside was any better. Everything was gray and had a layer of dark grime on it, and if you stood in place for longer than five heartbeats, ash settled in your hair and on your cloak.

Maze sat in the corner doing her leather craft and carving patterns into the hide with a knife tool.

She must be sick of him by now. He knew he was useless and a burden. What choice did he have? The vendors at the market refused to trade with him. He didn't know his way around the ridiculous lanes in the collective. He didn't belong here.

He didn't belong anywhere.

Lucifer glared up at the ceiling. Praying accomplished nothing. He hadn't felt his Father's presence since...

And he would _not_ think about that.

But what else was there to think about? He didn't want to craft. What was the point? He wasted leather and broke tools he couldn't replace. Maze's leather smoothing thing—whatever she called it—was the latest casualty of his effort to be productive. Everything he did was a waste.

Lucifer needed to go for a walk. He could go to the wall and stretch his wings. They'd gone that route enough times that he should be able to navigate alone. If only he could fly again...

Why was it taking so long to heal? He could barely hold his wings aloft for longer than five breaths without shaking with fatigue. How could he get back into the air if he couldn't hold his wings up?

The sandals were a bother, as always. He sat and weaved the string around his foot and ankle, trying to copy the same pattern Maze made. His fingers fumbled, the twists were too loose, and the sandal slid off when he took his first step.

Maze looked up. "Hold on. I'll do it for you."

Anger boiled within him at the offer. "I can do it myself."

"I can do it better."

He knew she could; that wasn't the point. He glared at her, and his eyes shifted and burned for a moment before he realized and blinked it away.

Maze grinned at his frustration, which only made him more frustrated.

"Suit yourself," she said.

When he retied it, the anger inside prompted him to pull the string too tight. It dug uncomfortably into his skin, but at least it stayed on. That done, he adjusted his tunic, wrapped the outer cloak around his shoulders and pulled up the hood.

"Give me a few flakes of ash and I'll come with you." Maze set her work aside and started getting dressed.

"I'll be fine on my own."

She gave him a skeptical look. "Last time you said that you got lost."

"I'm only going to the wall. I know the way."

"I'll join you."

"No. I can handle myself."

"Handle yourself?" She smirked and rolled her eyes.

What was so funny?

She reached for her sandals. "You have no idea what's out there."

"Don't underestimate me, Maze. I'm more capable than you think." This time when his eyes flared, he didn't blink it away.

She grinned and set the sandals aside. "Fine. Have fun. Want me to come find you when you aren't back by wind rise?"

"Go choke on a slug," he grumbled and headed out the door, annoyed even further when her laughter followed him.

Anger fueled him to walk faster the first few lanes, his mind set on Maze. She wouldn't be so inclined to dismiss his abilities if she'd known him in the Silver City. If he had full function of his wings, if he understood the Lilim language better, if anything about this place wasn't foreign and difficult.

What was this place? His power should have returned, fueled as it was by divinity in his wings, but something still pulled on him, drained him.

Was she following him, as she had the ashfall he went to the market on his own? The fat little Spire spy was there as always, but he didn't sense anyone else.

What if Maze was right? He didn't know what was out here.

He picked his way through the lanes toward the wall, noting that the domes became more dilapidated the further he walked. In contrast, the Lilim he passed looked more interesting. Seeing all the variations in claws and fangs and other characteristics was his favorite thing about the Lilim. Throwbacks, Fraq called them. The way Fraq described made it sound like monstrous features were a bad thing. But Lucifer grinned. Fascinating, he called them.

Maze was wrong. He could handle himself fine. He was one of the Host, a leader among angels. Or had been.

The Lightbringer.

Confidence welled, and he straightened his shoulders and let out his wings. At full strength, he was stronger than any Lilim.

A nagging doubt chewed on the corner of his thoughts. He _wasn't_ at full strength, though, was he? Hadn't been for quite some time. At first, he'd thought it was because his wings were damaged, because of the continual violation of his feathers. But, no, he was healed now, and he still felt weakened. As if the very land itself sapped his vitality.

Or he was being melodramatic?

Without Maze to hurry him along, he took his time. Up ahead, a group of Lilim sat in the lane, drinking from a flask. Their conversation halted as they stared.

There were far more Lilim in the lanes this early in the ashfall compared to when Maze brought him out to the wall close to wind rise.

Groups of Lilim sat smoking, throwing— were those teeth?— into a circle. Cheers went up depending on how they landed. Lucifer edged closer, trying to figure out the game, only to have them glare and spit on the ground until he moved on.

Another group under a hide awning wrestled without their clothing. He stopped to watch. He hadn't seen Lilim forego clothing outdoors before, but they appeared to enjoy the sport. They looked up at him, snickering.

"The beast wants to join us!" the one on the bottom who, though losing, seemed to be having the most fun. The apparent loser moaned and reached out, making a grabby hand. He'd wrestled and engaged in other contests of strength with his siblings, but he'd never enjoyed losing before.

"What's it look like without its clothes?" The scaled one on the top grunted and stood up, reaching for him.

Lucifer took a step back, and the Lilim erupted in a new round of raucous laughter. It wasn't an invitation. The threat in the naked Lilim's voice was clear, but he wasn't sure what the threat was.

He didn't feel like wrestling, anyway.

Lilim shouted and laughed in the distance. Lucifer paused. The sounds were coming from the other side of a row of domes blocking the way. But there was space between two of the Lilim shelters he could squeeze through. So long as he remembered the way back it wouldn't hurt to look. He climbed through but needed to disappear his wings to maneuver in the small space.

His sandal slid in a patch of mud, and he shook his foot in annoyance. No. That wasn't mud. The carcass of a knee-high roundish animal with jutting tusks lay discarded on the ground beside the lane. A puddle of blood formed around it.

What were the Lilim hollering about? Lucifer crept forward. The voices came from ahead.

_"Get it! Get the beast!"_ someone shouted. Lucifer dropped into a defensive stance, Get him? Why? He hadn't done anything—

But, no. The gathered Lilim jeered at something on the ground. A high-pitched squeal filled the air. They parted, and another smallish round creature like the one lying dead in the lane burst forth. Foam dripped from its mouth. Its eyes were wild and bloodshot. Sharpened sticks protruded from its hide. Lilim turned and howled, chasing it as it fled bleeding.

He ducked through the door of a dome until the swarm of Lilim passed by, yells of _"Catch the beast! Spill its blood!" _echoing through the lane.

_Beast._ The Lilim called him the same. Was this what Lilim did to non-Lilim? Killed them for fun, ate their flesh?

It was only after they passed that Lucifer took note of the dome he'd ducked into. Various weapons adorned the walls, whips and knives, a few swords. A large Lilim, knife in hand, stood stooped over a table by the far wall. His claws rivaled the knife's blade in length, making the weapon look redundant.

"Lost?" Despite the Lilim's size, his voice was quiet and high-pitched.

Lucifer faced him, his thoughts full of the beast stabbing party he'd seen, and considered his options to flee or fight.

"Not lost." He kept his voice firm and steady, even as his back itched to release his wings in defence.

"But not where you should be, are you? Come to see my wares?"

Lucifer examined the displayed products. The knives were expertly crafted. Even the Silver City would be lucky to possess weapons so artfully adorned. His interest in the surrounding crafts overshadowed the impending threat. He studied the finely carved looping designs on the hilt of one of the knives. "Do you carve these yourself?"

"What of it?" The Lilim growled and took a step forward. At full height, he was taller than Lucifer and far broader.

Lucifer dragged his gaze away from the design. "I like how the lines flow. It's difficult to see where one ends and another begins. It's good work."

The Lilim stopped and his expression shifted, eyes growing wider and jaw unclenching. "You like them?"

"I don't lie. See," he said, pointing to a whip. "The same, but different. Do you plan them out before or create them as you go along?"

"They just come to me, no plan."

Lucifer ran a finger along a blade. It was cool to the touch. "Thin and strong. Do you also shape the metal? What do you call it?"

"Forging. Yes."

"Why don't you sell with the other vendors?" Lucifer asked, and when he looked back at the Lilim, he saw his expression grow dark. Not an appropriate question, apparently. "Right. Well. I'll be off," he said, and checked that the lane was empty.

"Angel."

Lucifer stilled, surprised, but pleased, to be called something other than _beast_.

"Throwbacks don't trade at the market."

"Nor do beasts, apparently."

The seller harrumphed. "Find Rillam. She will trade with you. She's the hide trader with the scaly face, green hair; wears a metal pendant with a red stone in the center. Tell her Tyndale sent you."

"I will." It was worth a try. Lucifer walked into the vacant lane and searched for the space between domes to get back to the route he was familiar with.

In the deserted region nearest the wall; the domes were burnt husks, unsuitable for providing shelter. Maze always rushed him through this region more than anywhere else, claiming it was cursed.

She never explained why it was cursed, and the word meant little to him. The guards at the Spire had called him a 'cursed beast'. What made a thing cursed? It was enough to scare the Lilim. Enough to let him starve rather than risk entering his cell to give him food.

They'd left him no choice but to escape.

Calling something cursed was an excuse to avoid it. What was the region cursed with? Nothing tugged at the power inside him like when the storm had called to him. He released his wings and tapped into the divinity within to sense underlying currents of power. There was nothing. He slowed. The domes were empty. Nothing prevented him from exploring them. There was no curse here.

Curiosity led him to investigate the domes closer. The interior of the nearest was charred and ash-covered. He kicked at the ash, hitting something solid with his toe, and bent to inspect it. A skull? It was brittle and blackened, partially destroyed. How long had it lain here? Upon searching other domes in the vicinity, he found more remains. Not only a fire, but a fire where many Lilim had died. He'd never seen corpses of Lilim elsewhere within the collective, why hadn't they been cleared away here?

Was it the bones that made this place cursed? Bones or not, there was no power here.

Lucifer came to an area of ruined, not just burned, shelters and studied these more carefully. Long slashes marred the wrecked domes and the nearby ground. He found another set of gashes in the ground a lane away. No similar tracks existed between them. His wings twitched and unfurled as he looked up into the dim above.

A flying creature did this? Not Lilim. What kind of beast could do this?

He picked his way toward the wall and climbed up. The carved stairs were rounded and worn down. He gazed over the landscape beyond with new eyes. What else was out there? There were watchtowers to the east and west, but none here. Maze had explained it was because of the land. It was impossible to traverse the deep crags and fissures. By land. But something had attacked from the air, hadn't it? Why not watch for that?

He pulled his scarf up over his nose and mouth; the wind blew stronger up here. Confident he was alone, he extended his wings and held them out, breathing slow, steady.

Three breaths and his muscles shook with fatigue. He held them up a breath longer before letting them drop and relax. His back muscles were cramped from the tension.

Breathe through it.

It brought him back to those first ashfalls after Maze had rescued him from being bound beneath the Spire. Stabbing pains had run through his entire body as he started to recover. Even regaining the strength to walk had been a slow process.

He hadn't flown since long before being cast out the gates. Not since the day he defied his Father. How long had he been confined before being dragged up to his Father's throne? Before learning what the _mercy_ of his Father meant. Before the punishment was declared and he was cast down.

A shudder coursed through him. Of all the mighty feats he'd performed in his long life, reclaiming his mobility ranked among his most proud achievements. Reclaiming the air would be just as monumental. He imagined the swell of pride he'd feel taking to the air once more.

He squared his shoulders and extended his wings.

Not yet, but soon.

He knew it was time to return to Maze when the visibility over the plains grew dim. The deserted domes stood silent as he found his path back. Echoes of screams swept through the dark interiors. No power called to him from it. He stopped to listen. The sounds weren't real, only the wind and ash echoing among the ruins. All the same, he walked faster to make his way to the inhabited areas, and back home to Maze.


	11. Stir Crazy: 4 Everybody Hates Squee

**Stir Crazy: 4/5 Everybody Hates Squee**

* * *

When he returned from the cursed place, she hadn't said anything, but she'd been dressed to leave, and her gruffness told him she'd been worried.

Maze stayed home for an entire hand of ashfalls. She didn't prevent him from going out. He didn't suggest it either. The otherness and disconnect of this place was starting to wear on him. There were too many unanswered questions, what was he here, what did the Lilim ultimately plan to do with him?

He pushed, as he always did, and waited for Maze to lose her temper. Eventually, he'd push her away, the same as everyone else. His brothers and sisters had stood silent; his mother had turned away. His family rejected him, so what chance was there that Maze would be any different?

It was his usual rant that marked the end of her patience. Body wrappings were too restrictive. Why don't the Lilim wear them simply draped over their bodies rather than tightly sewn and too snug? If clothes were to protect against ash, why bother wearing them indoors?

She clenched her fists and breathed heavily through her nose. She stalked over to him and he braced for the inevitable.

"Stay here. I'm going out."

Just as he expected. Out. Without him. He'd provoked her.

She paused once before walking out the door. "I'm coming back, Lucifer."

Of course, she was. This was _her_ dome. "_Go_. I'll count my breaths until your return."

If anyone were to be expelled it would be him. Sooner or later that day would come.

She spun away and stalked out without responding. He flopped onto the bedroll. Now what?

Could he make it up to her? There was literally nothing he could do that she couldn't do better herself. He couldn't even go to the market and buy the things she needed… but wait. Yes, he could.

_Rillam_. The weapon maker had told him there was a vendor who might deal with him.

He grinned. He could go back to the market. Maze needed a new burnisher; yet another item of hers he broke. It would be a contribution. An offering of peace.

And the bonus was, maybe he'd find someone, anyone other than Maze, to treat him like a person.

The blasted sandals were impossible to master but he found if he wove the strings together enough times, they usually held in place long enough to do what he needed. He dug through his finished leatherwork pieces in his storage box and hoped they were good enough for trading.

This time he found the way to the market without getting lost. The trick was to follow the most populated lanes. Each time he visited the square the chaos and press of Lilim seemed less overwhelming. He skirted a fight, avoided an argument that broke out into a screeching, howling match behind him, and at last, spotted a seller with green hair.

She eyed him with caution as he approached, but she didn't spit on the ground and turn away. "Angel," she said, her eyes darting past him. Was she checking who saw her talking to him? He pulled his hood further over his head as an inadequate disguise and tried not to show his relief at not being called 'beast'.

"Tyndale sent me."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Tyndale? How did such as you find your way to his stall? Does your handler not teach you where not to go?"

"I go where I want."

Her tongue flicked out, long and forked on the end, slipping between her multiple rows of sharp, pointed teeth, and hissing out a long breath of laughter. "_Indeed._ You come to trade or to talk?"

"I need a burnisher."

"I have one I can spare." She placed the tool on the table. "One snake coin."

He didn't know if it was a good price, but she was willing to trade with him, and that was a good start. He placed his items on the table. "I have no coin, but will you trade for work?"

Rillam was less enthused about that, but she picked through his items, nonetheless. "These." It was all the best of his work, but he nodded, and she scooped them up and stashed them under her table and put the burnisher in their place.

He grinned. This was easy and strangely satisfying. He surveyed the rest of the market. Were there others who'd trade with him? It was amazing to see all wares presented, and if he had more coins, just imagine all the things he could bring home.

Rilliam slapped her hand on the table. "They don't like you, do they? But I do. Come back. I'll take your trade and coins from you," she smirked.

It was difficult to tell if she spoke with sincerity or if she was mocking him. It could be both. No matter, he found someone who didn't shun him. It was a good start. "I will."

He tucked the tool into his clothing pouch and moved on. There was a spot off to the side near an empty stall where he could observe the business of Lilim life. There were very few Lilim at the market who resembled the ones living out near the dilapidated domes near the wall. Most here looked like Maze; with minor interesting features—fangs, horns, claws—but not as spectacular and interesting as the ones called throwbacks. Rillam, the vendor, skirted the edge of what seemed acceptable.

A low rumble started to his right, and Lucifer dodged as a body flew past him. A screech rent the air as a female Lilim hit the wall he'd been leaning on and leapt back onto her feet. Lucifer scrambled to avoid the fight. The crowd parted where the two female Lilim faced off, claws out and teeth bared. The growls grew louder, overpowering even the sound of the surrounding crowd.

Lucifer maneuvered through the assemblage, knowing better than to get anywhere near what could erupt from that. The crowd jostled him as he pushed his way through. Those who recognised him recoiled and spat at his feet.

A hand grabbed the back of his cloak and yanked, pulling him to a stop. He spun with the motion and twisted the arm of the Lilim grabbing him until they let go. Raucous laughter followed, and he stepped away, only to trip when the closest Lilim stood on his sandal strings. The sounds of the fight across the market continued and Lucifer pulled his foot out of the sandal and yanked it out from under the Lilim's foot.

More laughter followed as he stood up. They had no idea who they were messing with. He should brandish his wings and show them exactly what they were…

A hand tapped his arm, distracting him from his indignation enough to dispel his temporary rage. A short Lilim stood to his side, looking up at him with a bulbous, lumpy face and blunt tusks coming up from his bottom jaw and curling over half his face. The odd-looking male grinned and nodded, clamping his hand around Lucifer's elbow and tugging on him incessantly.

He shook the hand from his arm. "What do _you_ want?"

"Sandals. Tie your sandals. They're all wrong."

Lucifer glanced at his feet. One foot was bare, and the other one had come undone. He didn't know this Lilim and wanted rid of him. "And?"

The little male's voice sharpened with authority. "They're _wrong._ Come with me."

"What?"

He tugged Lucifer's elbow. "Come, come. Has no one taught you?" He clucked his tongue and shook his head as if sorely disappointed. "Angel whelps need help too. Come. Squee will teach you."

Whelp? He didn't understand, but the little male didn't appear to be a threat. In fact, as unremarkable as he appeared, Lucifer felt the urge to pay attention. Was there a hint of power in this Lilim male?

In any case, he needed to tie his sandals. What would it hurt to follow? He allowed himself to be pulled into a building. This was no simple dwelling. It was huge inside, the roof consisting of several domes connected to make a singular, wide hall. Naked Lilim writhed together in pairs and groups throughout.

Lucifer watched the bodies twining together. The air smelled thick with hair-moss and sweat and an underlying scent he didn't recognise. Grunts and moans and flesh striking flesh formed a continuous hum of sound. They looked like the wrestling Lilim he'd encountered in the lane a while back, and they all looked like they were having a very good time.

The small male tapped his shoulder, drawing his attention back to his sandals. "You left your nest too early? Does no one teach angel spawn? You should come to the Lilim nest. Good for whelps who learn slow, like you. See. Watch Squee."

The little Lilim spoke in a slow, patient voice, rhythmic in a way he'd never heard other Lilim speak before. He allowed himself to be prodded into place. Squee knelt and picked up Lucifer's left foot, clucking his tongue with disapproval.

"Whelps need good sandals, good knots. How else will you outrun the merchants who want to beat you?"

He'd noticed.

Squee put the shoe on the ground. "Foot in! See, half done. Leave it like this when you take them off, and you can flee quickly. I'll go slow, you can learn. Everyone is always moving too fast for little ones."

"I'm not—"

Squee looked up and Lucifer felt it again, the urge to pay attention.

"The end is the whelp. See?"

He displayed the tip of the lace until Lucifer nodded.

"The whelp goes through the alley and into the dome, around the Spire"—he tapped Lucifer's ankle before wrapping the cord—"and in the dome again. Pinch the knot and loop it through, now you're done tying your shoe."

He grinned up at Lucifer and said, "Now you try it on the other foot."

Lucifer navigated the lace through the rhyme and wiggled his toes. He held up his foot, proud of how well he'd gotten the fit until loud moaning drew his attention back to the naked Lilim nearest to him. It…

Squee rapped his knuckles on Lucifer's foot, snapping his attention back to the task at hand. "Good work! Now show me on this foot."

Squee made him tie his sandals several more times, and he got faster each time. His fingers fumbled less, and the movements became less foreign. But he couldn't stop sneaking peeks at the Lilim around him. What were they doing with those—and putting them where? Should they really be tugged on like that? The ones doing it made it look enjoyable.

Finally, Squee stood and said, "Remember. Refuge in the nest for whelps in trouble. Especially males." Squee gave him a look that he suspected was meant to be meaningful and squeezed his arm before walking back out into the crowded marketplace.

Lucifer barely noticed the little Lilim's parting. He stayed, mesmerized by the scene before him. Possibilities began to unfold in his mind. The pieces fit together like...like the columns Fraq had dragged him past. Understanding sparked and he knew now what that puzzle represented. None of the male pieces here looked so different from his own, though. How many other wonders were there to discover under the layers of cloth the more interesting throwback Lilim covered themselves in?

A male left a group and the remaining members called after, pleading with him to come back. Lucifer approached, wanting to participate, but they growled and snarled. No, he wasn't welcome here. He shouldn't be so far from the exit. He edged away, got the wall to his back, and retreated out the exit. Laughter chased him out of the marketplace.

As soon as he was out of sight, he ran toward Maze's dome. The naked Lilim bodies were like own but used in such different ways. Not all of them had been in groups, some had seemed perfectly content on their own. If Maze wasn't back yet, he could try those things…

When he got home, he took the time to display the burnisher on top of Maze's toolbox. Then he shed his clothes. His hands hovered above his penis, almost trembling. It looked like it always had, not at all like the Lilim's.

In the Silver City no one would ever… but this wasn't the Silver City, was it? Maybe angels didn't work the same as Lilim. If he touched it the way the other Lilim had touched theirs, would anything happen?

Tentatively, he placed his hand over the length.

It changed. The sight of it was a shock as it started to grow and thicken until it stood out from his body, stiff and heavy. He shifted and it swayed, something deeply instinctual screamed at him to grasp it and thrust as the lone male Lilim had.

The urge to do _something, anything _with it overwhelmed his hesitation, and he grasped the shaft in his hand. He shuddered, the sensations it elicited were overwhelming, but good. Oh, so, good. His body demanded more. He squeezed his fist around it and moved…he nearly fell over in shock. How had he never discovered this before?

His heart raced and the surge of pleasure that coursed through him after only a few strokes flooded his senses. When it stopped, he cleaned the mess and lay back, reveling in the relaxation spreading through him.

Would it work the same a second time? After a few flakes of ash, he grew hard again. The friction grew irritating, so he found something to ease it. He tried different things, changing how he held his hand, the angle and speed, the substances he used to ease the friction.

He found that after the initial shock that he had to be more intent to reach that climactic jolt of pleasure. He pictured the other things the Lilim had been doing. He tried to imagine how it would feel, but he had no frame of reference.

He didn't realize Maze had come home until he reached another climax and she stood, staring down at him sprawled out on the sleeping mat.

He grinned up at her, catching his breath, but relaxed and hazy with pleasure.

She grinned back. "I thought angel parts didn't work like a Lilim's."

"Maze! Join me?"

It didn't take long for her to shed her body coverings. And there she stood naked, and he saw her through new eyes. He'd seen her naked before but never felt this…this desire. For the first time he saw her body, so different from his own, and he understood how these pieces could fit together. She leaned over him, her breasts brushing against his chest and he reached up and stroked her silky skin. Desire burned within him, wanting more.

She leaned closer; her breast brushed against his lips. He flicked the nipple with his tongue and Maze purred at him. Did she like that? He grew bolder, licking and sucking. She shuddered when his teeth scraped. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding his head in place, directing him to the other breast. Oh, he liked this.

She slid away. Her tongue trailed down the side of his neck until she found a point that made desire jolt through him. He moaned his approval as she sucked on the spot. Her teeth nipped and scraped, and he grasped at the bedding, dug his heels in and twisted. She stopped, and he stared up at her, breathing hard, and fighting the urge to take himself in hand again.

She glanced at his penis, and said, "We could have been having sex all this time?"

"Sex?"

"This." She straddled and rubbed against him.

It felt…better. So much better than touching himself. Then she… He was _inside_ her and he almost climaxed, but she pinched his side and it distracted his attention enough to slow down.

Maze began moving, and he thought he might come apart at the seams. She eased away each time he came too close to losing control, and the pleasure built and built until he was a writhing, moaning mess. She clenched around him, squeezing, until every nerve in his body concentrated on one point and exploded.

When he could feel his body again, Maze lay half on him, her chin resting on his chest.

Lucifer stroked her hair. "Spending time in the dome just got a lot more appealing."

She moved her leg, rubbing against him, making him gasp. "Why haven't we done this before?"

"I didn't know I could—" He grasped for words, but there were none in Enochian for this and he didn't know them in Lilim either.

"You're telling me that was your first?"

He nodded.

She smiled, a predator baring her teeth. "I have so much to teach you."


	12. Stir Crazy: 5 Bedtime Stories

**Stir Crazy: 5/5 Bedtime Stories**

* * *

Lucifer flopped onto the bedroll, contented to blink up at the shadows the hearth fire cast on the ceiling.

"For someone intent on exploring the collective lately, you seem satisfied to be spending your ashfalls inside."

He lolled his head toward her. "What makes you think I've given up on exploring?" he asked and shifted, rolling over to straddle her hips. "If I'd known this was an option, I never would've left."

Maze tilted her head back as he nipped at her collarbone. "This is a lot more fun than watching you mope."

"I don't mope."

"I say you do." Maze grabbed his hips and flipped him over. "Prove me wrong."

Lucifer licked his lips. "I'm open to suggestions."

"Less talk," she instructed and guided his head between her legs. "More tongue."

When Maze finished instructing Lucifer—thoroughly—on better uses for his tongue, she gave a satisfied sigh and licked her lips. "You've really never done this before?"

"Never," he grinned. He was thirsty, but it was too much effort to reach for the water flask.

"Not bad for an ignorant beast."

He frowned; she was teasing but the dig hit a little too deep for comfort. "I'm aware you think that of me."

"You're a fast learner," she admitted as she got up and tore a hunk of meat off the hook. "Or I'm a good teacher."

Lucifer snorted.

"You don't believe me? When I took you in, you knew nothing. I taught you to speak, to protect yourself from ash—even to eat and drink! Everything."

"You think I had no language before I fell?" he asked her, sitting up.

"Well, you made plenty of noises—it was better than listening to common beasts, sure, but nonsense."

He rolled his eyes. "What do you imagine angels are Maze? Where do you suppose my kind comes from?"

"They're beasts that fly above the ash-cloud. Everyone knows that."

"Beasts, are we?"

"Not you." She returned and sat near him; their sides pressed together. It was an attempt to mollify, but he wasn't ready to back down yet. Maze bit into the flesh and tore another piece off, chomping noisily. "But you have to admit you were very beast-like when I got you. Naked, lacking basic survival skills."

"So, according to you, because we don't speak your language or dress the way you do—because we have nothing in common, that means we're ignorant? You may find it funny that I thought the same about the Lilim. As would my siblings if they ever met you."

Maze laughed. "That's ridiculous. Only Lilim can think. And you, but you're unique."

"No, Maze. Listen," he said and licked his lips. He said his name in his native tongue, his new name, not the one his Father gave him. "This is how my name sounds in the language of my kind."

"That's nonsense."

He leaned forward and repeated it. "Try to make the sounds."

She tried, and he grinned at the result. "Close enough." It wasn't very close, but she'd at least tried. "Listen carefully. This is how to say dome," he said, and sang out another short trill.

Maze laughed.

"I didn't know your Lilim sounds were a language at first, either, Maze. It was as nonsensical to me as this is to you. Even after I understood, it was difficult to sound out the words. It's still a challenge."

"What about clothes and sandals?"

He shook his head. "Why would we?" He prowled over to the shelf and grabbed a fist full of hair-moss from the jar before lying beside her. Maze plucked it from his fingers, lit the end, and sucked a long draw before passing it back. He sucked it in, held it, and exhaled slowly.

He spoke, his voice trance-like, "There is a vast city with no darkness, no ash. The light shines everywhere. The brilliance of it breaks into millions of colors as it hits the crystal thrones, and the temperature is always perfect and never changes. There are no ceilings, and no walls. The air is always filled with song. One song in praise to Them. No other songs were ever considered. How could we, without being commanded to do so?"

He blinked rapidly, his eyes stinging from the smoke. Yes, the smoke. "You can see as far as forever in all directions. If you wished to reach the horizon, you never could. But you don't try, because They've never given you a desire to leave."

Maze plucked the hair-moss from his hand and took a drag. "Sounds weird."

Lucifer laughed. "It's not; weird would be interesting. Everything is always the same. Nothing ever changes." He reclaimed the hair moss and inhaled. "In the Silver City, you don't walk; you fly. And you have so many siblings you're never alone. Someone is always watching."

"What did you wear?"

"Nothing. There was no need."

"So, none of you wear anything?"

"It never occurred to any of us to want to. Wanting never occurs to anyone. Unless Father decides you should. And then you do. Because you must."

He lay on the bedding, one arm tucked behind his head, hair-moss lax in his other hand. He'd never told Maze so much about where he'd come from before. How would she react to knowing angels were akin to Lilim and not naked, ignorant beasts? To most Lilim, thinking any creatures other themselves were capable of sentient thought was horrifying.

And now he hoped he hadn't said too much.

"You're not making sense."

"Same old, same old." He frowned, his voice becoming quiet and subdued. "I was strong, and I was powerful, Maze. When I spoke, many listened." Another inhale of the hair-moss and he closed his eyes. This was getting too close to a much deeper pain within, the reason for his downfall, and he couldn't continue.

"Your turn. Tell me a story, Maze."

After a moment, she removed her Talisman Pouch from her belt and opened it, retrieving a strange spherical object. She hesitated then placed the item in his hand.

"Here," Maze said. "Before anyone thought about making strongholds and walls, we lived in small colonies."

Lucifer held it so the firelight caught the reflective bits in the swirling pupils, and she smiled. It looked almost like an eye; the 'pupils' swirl caught the light in a dazzling array of colors. "It's beautiful, Maze. What is it?"

She took it from him before answering. "It's the petrified eye of an alpha arachnis."

Oh, well that explained why it looked like an eye. He wiped his hands on the blanket.

She laughed before turning serious. "The beast terrorized our colony for many sprog cycles, attacking during the winds when we couldn't retaliate. It took what it wanted and disappeared; its tracks erased by the wind. We lost too many to it."

He sat up, eager to hear more.

"Varun and I hunted it long enough for our colony spawn to grow into whelps. We searched the sulfur fields and scoured cave after cave until we found its lair. And then we returned with all the able warriors of our colony to do battle. The beasts outnumbered us ten to one. The battle raged for hands of ash cycles!"

She jumped to her feet, excitement coursing through her. "The alpha returned to his lair as I slashed the throat of his mate." She swiped her arm through the air, wielding an imaginary blade. "The smallest arachnis had stung its venom into me before I drove my blade into its heart. My left arm hung limp, numb from the venom.

"The alpha's roar shook the very walls! We set upon it. Circling, keeping it between us, so we had it flanked no matter how it twisted and turned. It leaped on Varun, stupidly thinking him the bigger threat. The look on its face when my blade pierced its heart! A glorious hunt!"

She collapsed beside him, laying on her back, laughing at the recollection. "We carved the venom sacs from the smallest and threw the entire beast into the fire pit. The heat transformed its eyes into glass. We cooked them all into trophies while we licked our wounds, and I kept this one—the best one!"

Lucifer curled around her and Maze rolled onto her side, her back to his chest, and he hugged his arms around her, one hand resting on her breast. They lay together quietly for a long time.

Lucifer marveled at the bond they'd formed. Not just sex. Sex was an unexpected and pleasant bonus. His penis twitched just at the vague thought of it. Yes, very pleasant, but the bond was so much more.

Thinking she'd fallen asleep, Lucifer whispered into her ear, "Far, far above the cloud of ash, there are many small lights in the above and they shine like the embers in a hearth after the fire has died. They illuminate all things in my world and leave no shadows, but they have not always been as they are. Father created me to bring light and gave me the ability to craft as I desired. Back when everything was young, I entered the darkness alone, it was the first time away from my Father and Mother and siblings. I could feel the energy around me, its desire to be organized and useful. I pulled on the threads of creation and spun them together. Ignited them. The song within them grew louder, and they began to dance and spark. The threads of energy were stimulated"—he trailed his fingers along her arm—"and expanded, some so much that they burst apart, releasing the potential within. Their brilliance shone as the Silver City grew, and we lived under their glow."

He nuzzled her neck for comfort this time instead of play, pulling her tighter against his chest. "I wept when the first died. But its death seeded the void with sparks that grew and changed, and it was beautiful. So beautiful. Others grew in its place and continued the dance, and that, too, was beautiful."

Maze wiggled in his embrace and he nibbled at her skin just below her ear. Now that he'd begun, now that he'd dared to speak of his freely of his former home, he felt the urge to continue, to tell her of the motes of good he'd gleaned from the sterility of his Father's realm. "I have many siblings." His voice broke, and he cleared his throat before continuing. "Many siblings. While following my Father's commands, we stole time to race. Demonstrating feats of prowess was one of the few things deemed acceptable outside of direct orders, but there was joy in it, Maze. I was the fastest and the brightest. None ever matched my speed or brilliance, but the joy we felt...that was the real prize."

He quieted, remembering. Maze poked him in the side with her elbow, making him squirm. "Is that how you learned how to fight?" she asked.

He didn't want to tell her what had been done with his hands. "When They created us, other beings came into existence at the same time. That which comes from darkness can not be suffered to exist." He shuddered at the memories being evoked, at the remembrance of the blood and the sounds the Unnamed had made as they died. "And so, He ordered they be eradicated."

"A war?"

"Yes. A war that will never end. These beings, the Unnamed, are much harder to find than they are to kill—canny and difficult. They slink in the shadows, attacking our backs."

"And you killed them?"

"All that our Father ordered us to find, we destroyed. None of us ever considered otherwise." He took a breath. "There was no option to refuse. I know that now. My hands were covered in blood, and yet, I was nothing more than the sword, the unwitting tool, that He wielded."

He moved his hand over her heart. Like all Lilim he'd encountered, he felt no soul within her. "You're different on the inside. Everything you are, is right here."

"Why wouldn't it be?"

He had no words to explain what it meant. He asked instead, "What happens when Lilim die?"

"Nothing. We stop living. Don't you?"

"We're not nearly as lucky," he murmured.

There was no more he could bring himself to say.

But before the dreary turn his mood could fully take hold, she rolled back toward him and pushed him onto his back, climbing on top once more.

"Don't fall asleep yet. I have more to teach you," Maze purred. Lucifer arched his back and moaned as she took him inside again. With his focus solely on her, there was no room in his thoughts for darkness.

Maze grinned down at him. "Soon, I will take you to the Commons. There are so many more lessons for you to learn."

He sat up, wrapping his arms around her and capturing her breast with his mouth. The angle limited motion, but it suited the intimacy of the ashfall. Maze's hands ran through his hair and she moaned when he brought his teeth into play. This world, despite how different, how chaotic, and sometimes terrible it was in comparison to where he came from, also held so much promise.

Lucifer looked forward to making it his own.


	13. True Self

**True Self 1/1**

* * *

**Content warning: **  
_Dubious Consent and __unresolved victim self-blame.  
_

**Summary**: _Still new to Lilim society, and desperate for new experiences, Lucifer accepts an invitation to an orgy from one who holds ill-intent. The sex is fun...until it's not. Drugs, alcohol, manipulations, and dark intentions combine to trap Lucifer in a situation that goes very, very wrong._

* * *

"_Come with me_."

Over the last several hands of ashfalls, Lucifer had been to the Lilim pleasure building named The Commons three times without Maze. She'd given up on demanding to escort him after they'd been dozens of times together.

This female, with brown skin and yellow eyes and the only fully symmetrical, non-monstrous face he'd seen, had pulled him aside each time he'd been alone. He grew hard remembering the soft blue and green scales that covered her back and faded out over her ribs. The scales seemed to shimmer and shift in shade as they were stimulated, and he looked forward to experiencing those color changes over and over again.

Lucifer tilted his head back as her tongue trailed from his collarbone up to his ear. Shivers of pleasure crawled up his spine, and he licked his lips, eager to reciprocate. He didn't know her name, but he knew the heights of pleasure she brought him to, and he willingly followed her out of The Commons and through lanes he didn't recognize. She took him to a dome on the far side of the spire. A dull earthy odor emanated from within, growing stronger as she pushed aside the door covering.

It was… more than he'd expected. Better. Naked Lilim lounged on vast rugs of thick furs. Embroidered and decorated tapestries covered the walls. The air was warm, smokey. In the Commons, without Maze, only single Lilim ever accepted him. He'd been rejected by every group with growls and snarls. But these Lilim smiled, the friendly kind of baring teeth smile, and motioned him to join them.

The Lilim he arrived with handed him a bowl of liquid. "Drink."

He drank, the taste heavy and sweet with a spicy aftertaste. The substance made his insides warm and his lips tingle. A male laying on the floor reached over and caressed his lower leg, "Join us."

_Oh yes_.

Lucifer shed his clothes, grateful to find sensible, clothes eschewing Lilim who didn't growl at him at last. Still, he hung the clothes—the tunic and leggings and belt that Maze insisted meant better things than the more comfortable chiton—neatly on hooks near the door. Maze insisted he not roam the lanes naked. The only place other than her dome she approved of nakedness was the bathing dome—which he'd taken thorough advantage of before heading to the Commons. He wouldn't endure more jibes about 'angel stench', if he could help it.

The first time he'd entered The Commons, he'd been confused by the things the naked Lilim did to each other, but he'd found a sensation that he'd never suspected possible. Now that he knew the pleasures it offered, and it had become endlessly exciting.

He wanted more. More pleasure than he could give himself. More than the brief stints at The Commons where most of the Lilim refused to touch him. More than he and Maze could share alone. He joined the pile of lounging Lilim, reveling in the press of their bodies against his. Another bowl found its way into his hands and he drank it down. One after another, they took him to the heights of pleasure. Did things he'd only seen others do, did things he'd never seen before, and he exalted in all of it. He lost track of where one encounter ended and another started, but the yellow-eyed female took care to ensure that everything went smoothly. He closed his eyes, and he woke to more pleasure, more bowls of drink. The outside world ceased to exist. No worries. No responsibilities. There was only the here. There was only now. And that's where he wanted to stay.

Lucifer was too at ease and exhausted to do more than wait for whatever the next would give reached for the female who had brought him, through the haze of pleasure and drink, wanting to caress her scales, to make them shimmer and change, but she leaned forward, pressing his wrists to the bedding, smiling, smacking her lips at him. He let her maneuver him and returned her smile.

"I want to see you," she whispered, and his head grew heavy and his thoughts slower.

"Here I am."

Her voice took on a strange quality. Harmonic tones overlaying her voice, caressing his mind in unfamiliar, unpleasant ways. "I see a glamour. A falsehood. I want to see the _real_ you. The beast underneath."

Beast. The pleasure haze fled from Lucifer's mind. He shook his head. "No."

"Show me your wings, living-angel."

"No!" He rolled, knocking her away as he staggered to his feet. He didn't want to be here anymore.

A ring of Lilim surrounded him, placating, encouraging. Hands reached out, fingers, claws, trailing against his chest and back. "Shh, stay, this is fun, yes? Feels good?"

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. He should go home. Maze would be worried. This was too much. He—another bowl pressed against his lips. Thirst raged within him and he drank.

"You want to feel good?"

The drink tingled in his mouth and warmed his insides. They wanted him. He _needed_ to be wanted. He reached for them. "Yes. Yes, I want it."

A sharp claw ghosted across his lips and he opened his mouth. Someone fed him a thistle, and he chewed.

The danger was forgotten, replaced with sensation, with pleasure. Another thistle pressed to his lips, and he gladly accepted. He knew this game. He immersed himself back into the circle of Lilim, seeking their touch, their attention.

Lucifer's knees gave way, and they soon had him surrounded, under him, in him, on him. More Lilim entered the dome, coming and going. The female who'd brought him here exchanged words and coin with the newcomers. She came to him after each new Lilim left, gave him drink and spread something soothing over aching parts, bruises, and scratches. He felt cared for and protected, so he could enjoy the next encounter and the next and the next without having to think or worry and he loved the security of it.

It became too much. Too much sensation. The pleasure started to border on pain. Hands grabbed and groped, no longer caressing, but demanding and controlling. He gave them what they wanted so he could hold onto the moment, being accepted, rather than reviled and spat at and called a beast. To feel like he belonged to something grander than himself, just a little longer.

The hushed tones and the clink of coins continued. This wasn't fun anymore. And yet when there was a gap, when he found himself lying alone, he reached out, needy for their caresses, desiring the security of being held so intimately. Each of them fed him thistles when they finished with him, and the offered him more of the drink until his eyes closed again. He existed in a haze. Sensation. Pleasure. Pain. Did he dream, or did it happen? He didn't know, but if he dreamed, he didn't know how to wake.

A sharp jolt of pain to his cheek woke him. A second slap across his other cheek rocked his head. It hurt, but he was thankful to be awake.

"Try this," a low voice said into his ear. Quiet pervaded the room, this was different, someone different. Golden eyes shone out of the shadow that enveloped her, and his eyes couldn't focus, but he embraced her as he had all the others. Powder-coated the Lilim's finger, and he opened his mouth, sucking and licking it away.

The effects of the drug pulled at his consciousness. The floor dropped from under him as if he were flying. They were all flying.

A comfortable haze, even thicker than before, enveloped him.

The whisper in his ear, similar to the one he'd rejected, but insistent, _inexorable_, writhed its way into his mind, so quiet, so small that he didn't hear it at first. It reached his ears underneath the sounds of moaning—was that him making those sounds?— and flesh rubbing together. "_Change. Show me. Show me your true self._"

Heat encompassed him, and it was breathtaking, amazing, wonderful. His entire body crackled with sensation. He rode the waves of ecstasy and he missed the moment his skin changed, missed his wings unfurling, until everything stopped. The sounds and sensations slipped away, leaving him adrift.

Appreciative murmurs broke out around him and he opened his eyes. The glow from his feathers lit the room. No. This wasn't right. Hands caressed his wings, and it was wrong, but it felt good. The fingers were gentle, stroking the feathers, straightening the barbules. He shivered with pleasure and the female Lilim rolled her hips. A finger thrust into his mouth and he sucked more of the special powder, eager for the sensations of flight and peaks of pleasure, hands, and mouths, penetrating and being penetrated.

He embraced it. All of it.

* * *

He was sticky and sweaty and sore and tired and thirsty. Even as a sense of a deep disgust came with every caress and lick that stroked this corrupted skin, touched this ruined and profane thing he'd become, he _wanted_ it. He wanted the sensual awareness of his body. The connection of flesh to flesh, the tastes, the scents. It was life and warmth and companionship. Even as he was too tired to pay attention, to keep his eyes open, being held and taken and surrounded, soothed a part of his mind that needed this. Needed touch that, even if it wasn't pleasurable, at least filled his senses.

The part of him that needed connection kept reaching out to them, accepting and accepting. He hurt. Pain had been his companion for so long. Yet pain made him feel alive. Pleasure sparked along his nerves often enough to keep him wanting and wanting and wanting—until exhaustion pulled him into oblivion.

* * *

His arms were outstretched, restrained, when his mind came to enough for the appearance of his skin to register. He was red and disfigured and the shadowy Lilim over him traced her claws along the ridges of his scars, scratching, trailing blood and fire behind them

_No_. Disgust filled him at the sight of his own self.

Only one Lilim touched him now—the shadow—she was everything, controlled everything. The others dropped away; the dome faded from existence. The shadow alone remained. He remembered her voice now, the one that had commanded him. _Show me_. The voice that had stolen his control. His body ached where they joined, ached everywhere with exhaustion and overuse. He tried to reassert his glamour. The colors rippled, but the red refused to be banished. He rolled his shoulders and his wings, too, refused to obey.

He closed his eyes; he didn't want to see himself. Contempt broiled deep within him, he could feel his corrupted skin, he could feel the scars as her fingers alternated between caressing and clawing over them. She rubbed more of the powder against his lips and he licked it, eager to stop caring.

* * *

He surfaced again. A clawed finger raked across his chest, and shock waves of pain rocked through him. He gasped. There was nothing left in him to filter his reactions.

"It feels good?"

It didn't feel good, but it _felt_ and that was what he craved. He didn't reject the touch. Or the one after, or the one after that.

* * *

He woke to Maze shaking him while snarling. "Who did this, Lucifer?"

Fog filled his head; made his thoughts murky. He looked around the empty dome. There had been Lilim and bedding and… Maze glared at him, waiting for his answer.

"Did what?" His throat burned and his voice sounded rough.

She yanked him into sitting up. His glamour had reasserted itself. The off-balance weightlessness of his wings tucked away in the elsewhere tilted him onto his side. He felt grubby and gross, but with the glamour back he felt secure, shielded, _covered_. Maze grabbed a large cover left behind by one of the Lilim and started pushing it at him, but he ignored it as he rubbed his arms and reveled in the smoothness.

Her face had that pinched look that marked anger. "I've been looking for you for more than a _hand_ of ash cycles, Lucifer!"

"Did I—? How? I never…" But did he? "It didn't seem so long." His skin hurt. The weight of the covering ground into it like gravel. He let the cloth drop as he stood and stretched, his muscles sore, sensitive areas burning. A bone-deep ache in his midsection drew him into a hunch.

Maze roughly spun him around, holding him steady when his balance faltered, inspecting him, prodding bruises and scratches. "Are you badly injured? I will hunt down every last one of those Motherless, slug-sucking, spawn killers and feed them their own entrails."

"Why?" A bowl lay to the side, and he picked it up, sniffed, recognized the bitter odor and tipped it up to his mouth to ease his thirst.

Maze grabbed it away and threw it across the room. "What happened here?"

There was a thistle in his hair, he plucked it off and considered eating it, but, no, just looking at the thing turned his stomach. He didn't like… He liked thistles. He didn't like how they had fed them to him. And he didn't like that he'd let them.

Nausea roiled his stomach. What happened here? The dome was bare of everything but trash…and him. He swallowed hard. _They left him behind with the rest of the trash_.

She pushed the body covering at him again, and this time he pulled it over his head and tied the belt in place despite the pain. His sandals should be here somewhere too. He started kicking at the refuse left on the floor. Discarded bones from the dead flesh the Lilim had been gnawing on, hides covered in a sticky syrup they'd spread on his skin to lick off.

It had felt _good_ at the time. Until it didn't—and that…

"I can't find my sandals."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maze sorting through the debris, collecting the clothes she'd made for him.

He wanted to wash.

"Here." She plucked the sandals out of a pile of soiled moss.

Wordlessly, he took them and crouched to tie them on his feet. His head swam as he bent, fingers fumbling, and she knelt and brushed his hands away, taking over.

"Lucifer, what happened here?"

He watched her tie the laces on his sandals, mind drifting. "I wanted to feel good."

"Here?"

He shrugged, not knowing where here was.

"Why did you stay so long?"

"I wanted to leave, but…" He looked around at the debris and memories of sensations ghosted over his body. He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself. "I lost track."

"Right." Maze finished tying his sandals and placed a hand on his back. "Let's go home."

They walked together in silence until Maze stopped in front of a small dome with ornate work in shades of green and yellow outlining the doorway. Lucifer stared at it for a heartbeat before he realized they were at the bathing dome.

"Maze?"

"Clean up." She gave him a gentle—for her—push through the door.

He looked back at her, panic spiking in his gut. Ridiculous, as Maze's dome was less than eight body lengths from this one. He had nothing to worry about. He'd wanted to be with those Lilim. He enjoyed it.

"Lucifer. Bathe yourself. I'll wait for you in the dome."

He nodded and took a step further inside. It was the chill in the air that made him shiver. The heat from the small fire within didn't reach the doorway. Nothing else made sense.

Lucifer secured the door flap and added moss to the dying fire. The hot spring that bubbled up from the ground was contained in a sealed reservoir box as tall, wide, and deep as his body length. The overflow bubbled from an opening near the top and washed down a green-tiled trough, across the dome to a grate in the floor. He'd often wondered where the grate led, but Maze didn't know and didn't care. The bathing basin joined the trough and was filled by placing a simple stone dam across the trough.

The oversized, smelly, _disgusting_ garment he threw far from the bathing basin. He placed the stone across the trough, damming the water until the basin filled with hot water. Sitting in the hot water stung the overused parts of his body, and he hunched over breathing through the pain until it became tolerable. With clean moss and soap, he scrubbed his body and hair until the dirt and stickiness and crustiness had gone. He moved the stone and let the filthy water drain, refilled the tub, and scrubbed again. The sting of the soap made his eyes water, but he kept scrubbing.

_Show me. Show me your true self_.

He stared at his hands, his pale, smooth, perfect hands as they moved along his pale, bruised, scratched body.

Scrubbing wasn't enough.

The words echoed in his mind. The memories of the shadow Lilim who had dominated his mind formed and broke and fragmented and formed again. He couldn't hold onto them. There had been pain and fear, hadn't there? Was that part real at all? Did it matter? That was what they'd wanted all along wasn't it? The beast. The monster. The angel. That's all he'd ever be to them.

He startled when Maze placed a hand on his shoulder. "Lucifer?"

He looked at her, and at the crumbling scrubbing-moss in his hand. The water was cold. How long had he been sitting, brooding?

"I was just a beast to them, Maze," he whispered. The more he thought about the encounter the more he doubted: doubted his judgment, doubted what he'd felt. "They did something. I couldn't control my…skin. My wings. That was what they wanted. They wanted to treat me like a beast, and that's all I was. It didn't feel like it at the time, but—"

"Now it does," she concluded. "Come, I made you some porridge."

Maze wrapped a cloak around his shoulders when he stood and waited as he made a quick tie for his sandals. The cloak was big enough to cover him completely, head to toe, and not even ash touched him on their way back to her dome.

It felt good to return to what was familiar and he sat close to the heat of the hearth and ate the porridge Maze gave him. She lay by his side after, told him he should sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the shadow with golden eyes. Echoes of _show me your true self_ chased him as he fought off slumber. When fatigue finally overpowered him, the darkness of his dreams held horrors he didn't know how to process.


	14. Shenanigans: 1 Despondent

**Shenanigans **1/3  
Maze and others nudge Lucifer back into the world around him. Shenanigans ensue. Lucifer heals and gets one step closer to learning his true purpose in Hell.

* * *

He woke up to Maze nudging him with her foot. He grumbled but didn't move.

"Are you still alive?"

"No." He shivered, skin feeling prickly and over sensitive. His muscles ached all over.

"Then I guess you don't want any of this scalding ooze porridge I made," she teased.

Yes. Yes, he did. She didn't make that for him often. Even the thought of it made his mouth water and he licked his dry and chapped lips. He wanted to sit up. _He wanted to._ He imagined himself sitting up, holding out a hand for the warm bowl, imagined the taste of the porridge, sweet on his tongue compared to so many other semi-edible things in this world.

"Lucifer, are you getting up or not?"

But he fell back to sleep. Consciousness only brought misery, and more chills. Light touches were irritating; the blanket material felt like gravel scraping his skin. Outside the cover the air was too cold. He could scoot closer to the hearth, but then he might as well be in the fire as near it. The heat was too intense, burning, even from a distance.

Maze lightly stroked his hand, then wrapped her fingers around his wrist and pulled him upright, the pressure of her fingers was better than the light caress from before. Nausea roiled his stomach and he grasped the blanket around his shoulders, the muscles in his upper back protesting against the movement. He wanted to sleep. Why wouldn't she let him?

She placed the bowl on his lap, "Eat before it gets cold."

He wanted to. But the gap between wanting and doing was wide. He pushed the bowl back to the floor before laying down and rolling over, grasping for the comforting embrace of sleep to return.

From some distant place where the world still existed, a body slid close behind him, arms wrapped around his chest and warmth enveloped him. Only then, did his shivering ease, and he rested at last.

Lucifer was aware when Maze's body moved away from his. He wanted to reach for her, ask her to say, but willing the action into reality was too much work. Instead, he rolled onto his back and watched in a half-doze as she sharpened her blades and buckled on her armor.

The prospect of Maze leaving brought back old fears. Where was she going? Would she come back? He didn't want to be alone.

But the words wouldn't come. He remembered the frustration of not being able to communicate, and that same level of despair burned within him. Why couldn't he translate his thoughts into words and ask her to stay?

Mazikeen left. He turned his head back toward the fire, watching the blaze. She'd be back. This was her dome, her stuff was here, of course she would come back. Knowing this didn't ease his fears.

The winds rose and howled when Lucifer opened his eyes. He expected to be alone still, but Maze crouched beside him. She used moistened moss to clean and buff her blades. The moss went into the hearth basket to dry and later be used to fuel the fire. The ruined side of her face was the only part of her he could see, the bone and tendons blended and meshed with the skin, shaping her jaw and her eye. He knew this side of her as intimately as the other, and it fascinated him. He wanted to run his fingers along the intricate patterns of her cheek. But he didn't. The lethargy gripped him as securely as the divine binding cord ever had. There was no fighting it, and so he didn't. He lay and watched. She didn't look his way until she finished tending to her blades and put them away.

"Are you going to stay awake this time?"

"Maybe." He didn't want to.

"Still cold?" She asked.

He nodded. She reached over and helped him sit up. The blanket fell from his shoulders and she wrapped her arm around him instead. She threw more moss on the fire, and he rested his head on her shoulder.

A dark patch of something on her arm caught his attention and he rubbed his thumb against it. "Blood?"

"Not mine," Maze answered.

He had questions, but no words would come. He let his arm drop on his lap and rested against her. Wrapped in Maze's warmth, he started drifting away in his mind again.

"I have a serious question, Lucifer."

That brought him back. He tensed, waiting.

"Does your kind hibernate?"

"I don't know that word."

"Beasts that sleep for long periods of time."

"Not a beast," he grumbled.

"I know, but do you hibernate?"

"No?"

"What is this, then?"

He shrugged.

"I want you to stop it. Get up. Move. No more sleeping."

"I'll try." He sat up straighter as she pushed him off her. He accepted the waterskin when she passed it to him and took a long drink. How could he explain he wanted the same thing; he just didn't know how.

* * *

"Lucifer, there are whelps outside. If they damage anything, I'm blaming you."

He threw his arm over his face, only wanting to go back to sleep. "What are whelps?"

"Untrained pests." Maze rolled her eyes and snatched the cover off him. Lucifer rolled up into a ball. Why was it so cold? She clapped her hands in front of his face. "Get up, Lucifer. Enough lying around."

"I'm not lying around; I'm sleeping."

"You haven't bathed in a hand of ashfalls. You smell like wet sandals. If you keep going like this, you'll rot."

"Angels don't rot."

"They're throwing rocks at the dome, and I'd rather not have to go out there and give them the beating they deserve. They're looking for you. Get up and see what they want."

He groaned and sat up, stomach roiling with nausea. His chiton hit him in the head, courtesy of Maze, and he pulled it on and pinned it. Leggings next. He laid back down and pulled them up. And the belt. The clothes scraped against his over sensitive skin and he was even more cold wearing them than without. Sandals. Cloak. Maze tried to push the scarf at him, and he batted her hand away. The thought of anything wrapped around his throat felt like being choked. He tugged at the collar of his tunic. "I'm fine."

The light from the torch made him squint. Since when was anything in this realm too bright? The ash cloud glowed brighter, the torches were beacons of pain driving into his skull, and yet everything else was too dark. Lucifer squinted into the contrasting visual chaos around him.

A rock hit his back. He turned and glared. Right. Fraq stared at him with her asymmetrical eyes, the larger yellow one nearly glowed around the slit of vertical pupil. On either side were two males, whatever their names were. Hadn't there been three males before? "What?"

She ran up and grabbed his hand, tugging him along.

"Maze—" He called back to the dome, seeking rescue. He didn't want to go anywhere or do anything.

Maze stepped out of the dome and shoved a small travel bag at him. "No more sleeping. Stop at the market and get more hair-moss."

Well. That was unhelpful. He pulled the bag over his shoulder and let Fraq drag him along. His limbs felt heavy and tired and sore. "The market is the other way."

"How would you know?"

"How do you know I _don't _know?"

Fraq stuck out her tongue and let him go.

"Where's the other one?"

"Other what?"

Lucifer waved his hand toward the other males, the round furry one close to Fraq's size was there, as was the shorter one with spiked hair and beady eyes. "The one with horns and sharp teeth is missing."

"Oh, Zek found a mentor. He will be a warrior!" Fraq stated proudly.

"Why don't you have a mentor?" Lucifer asked, he'd thought Fraq was the leader of her bunch of miscreants.

She glared and let out a derisive snort. "I'm not going to mentor with just anyone. I'm waiting for a proper female warrior to train me. Zek's male, it doesn't matter who trains him. I've heard your handler is a really good mentor. But I bet she's not looking for any proteges. You know, unless she found someone she thinks is worth her time. What do you think?"

Lucifer bristled at Maze being called his handler. Maze was not his handler. She was… something else. "I don't think Maze likes whelps very much."

Fraq let out a harrumph and kicked at a stone on the lane. Her mood didn't stay sullen for long though. "Bet you can't keep up with me."

"Why would I want to?" Why did Fraq have so much energy and why was she using it to bother him?

"Cause you're slow. Lilim are faster than angels."

"No, they aren't."

"Prove it."

Lucifer glared, indignation welling up inside him. Pride trumped lethargy. His sandals were on securely. "Fine."

Fraq took off. Lucifer gave her a head start. The little males stared open-mouthed. And then he was off. But he didn't follow straight. He knew his way around better now. He didn't even have to run. Just wait, listen, and follow. He took a 'path' between domes and then cut through a boar pen, and around… and there she was. Fraq had slowed to a stop, looking behind her. Lucifer snuck up from behind, leaned in close to her ear.

"Fraq," he whispered, and she jumped, flailing theatrically.

She smacked his arm. "You cheated."

"Did not. You can't cheat when there are no rules. The goal was to keep up. I did."

"Next time there will be rules."

He shrugged. "I already proved angels are faster. You can't undo it."

The two little males came running to catch up, panting all the way.

Fraq walked along beside him, kicking at the ash drifts as she cast side-eyed glances his way.

"Ugh. I can still smell the Lethe on you," she muttered.

"What's Lethe?"

"It makes you think down is up, bad is good."

"Is that supposed to make sense?"

"It's bad. Terrible. The ones who supply it aren't interested in making us feel good, they prefer screams. They make you do things you don't want to."

"No one made me do anything." He answered, but he wasn't sure. What about revealing his skin under the glamour? Making him reveal his wings? There was a lot about the encounter he couldn't remember. But he knew he'd resisted none of it.

"There are a lot of fun things to do that won't leave you to wake up in the trash."

He glanced at her, and then away. "If you mean the commons, I've been there. They don't like non-Lilim."

"They don't like anyone different. Warriors only like warriors. Gatherers only like other gatherers. Nobody likes whelps, but we have our own places. You could come with me sometime. If you're allowed."

"I'm allowed."

Fraq gave him a doubtful look and gestured the males closer and pointed at a group of Lilim throwing dice in the lane.

The males scurried up ahead.

"What are they up to?"

"We'll see you run yet," Fraq teased.

He snorted. "Not likely."

Fraq bared her teeth, and then nodded at the males. They grinned, and then the furry one screeched and leaped onto the other one, and an all-out brawl started between them.

Lucifer watched them growl and claw at each other, releasing terrible and loud howls and shrieks. They hadn't been angry a moment ago. He knew a planned distraction when he saw one.

Fraq nudged him. "Be ready," she warned.

He frowned. "What for?"

She ran up to the fight, trying to pull one off the other, and then went stumbling backward into group of Lilim gathered to watch. Lucifer kept an eye on her, and yes, there it was. Her hand snagged a bag at one of the Lilim's belts and tugged.

The string broke, she grabbed her prize, and was off running.

Shouts and threats followed; the males were already gone. All eyes turned on him.

_Oh. Warg-nuts. _

"The beast was with them! Get him!"

The memory of the sad looking tusked beast speared and bleeding in the lane came to mind. Could he fight them? There were only five… did he want to? Not so much. He ran after Fraq, easily faster than the Lilim chasing. He was going to dunk the little menace into a boar pit for this.

The sound of pursuit only lasted for two lanes. As much as he hated to admit it, the brief burst of activity felt good on his sore muscles. He stopped and shook out the bits of gravel and stone wedged in his sandals and looked around.

Now, where was he?

A rock bounced off the back of his head. Fraq hadn't abandoned him after all. Why was she always throwing rocks at him? He looked for the source, and there she was. When she jumped down from the roof of the shelter, she was holding her spoils with pride, and even spun in place in excitement.

"This is going to be worth a lot!" she bragged.

"It doesn't look like there's a lot of coin in there. Is it something else worth trading?" He was used to them stealing stuff from the market by now, though he still didn't understand the logic of selling what they stole back to the trader they took it from. Nor the willingness of the traders to willingly partake in such transactions.

"We don't trade it, we ransom it. Don't you know what this is?" She asked and thrust the pouch in front of his face.

"Should I?"

Fraq rolled her eyes. "You're such a sprog. Its a Talisman Pouch. Everyone has one."

"I don't."

"All _Lilim _have them. Your handler, Mazikeen, has one."

He ignored Fraq calling Maze his handler, _again_. "Oh, _that_ pouch. Why is that valuable?" He snatched the pouch out of Fraq's hand and loosened the tie to empty the contents of it onto his palm. It was just a bunch of funny colored rocks and some bones and teeth.

Fraq looked like her eyes might pop out of her head and she rushed forward, grabbed the bits and pieces and stuffed them back in the little sack. She shoved it in her cloak and looked around, checking that no one saw what happened.

Lucifer stood, perplexed. She looked genuinely upset.

Fraq kicked ash at him, her face white, hands trembling. "You gut-faced malt-worm!" she hissed and kicked ash at him again. "You're going to get us all cursed." She threw her arms up in the air and stomped some more. "That's it! We're cursed now. I'm going to end up picking fungus out of dank caves with the males! My claws are going to shrivel and fall off! My fangs will rot, and my face will blister and leak pus!"

He couldn't help it; he laughed. This only served to incense the little Lilim further and she launched at him.

That was unexpected. Lucifer stepped out of the way and stuck out his foot. She landed face first in the dirt. "Are we done now? Do you mind telling me what heinous crime I've committed?"

"You touched it," she growled and clenched her fists, but didn't attack again.

"How was I to know I wasn't supposed to touch it? Maze let me touch hers."

Fraq stared. "She _let _you touch the things in her _pouch_?"

"She lets me touch a lot of things—"

Fraq hopped in place. "Don't you get it? You corrupted the talisman's essence. You cursed it."

"What essence? There's no curse."

She grabbed the pouch again and held it out threateningly. "This. No one is going to pay a ransom for corrupted magic."

"There's no magic on that. Never was."

"Of course, there is. It's a _Talisman_. That's what it _means_."

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Nothing there. Do you sense anything?"

Fraq looked at the pouch. "No. That just means you chased it away."

He gestured to the pouch on Fraq's own belt. "How about that one? I never touched yours. Do you feel magic in there?"

"No. But, that doesn't mean there isn't. Maybe it's just me, and this is my curse now. Because of you!"

"You're not cursed. The pouch hasn't been corrupted. No one other than us need to know anything about it, and you'll get exactly as much ransom as you were going to before I '_defiled'_ it."

Fraq eyed the pouch, and then eyed him. "Really?"

"Yes."

"I don't feel any different." She let out a sigh and tucked the pouches back where they belonged.

"That's because you _aren't cursed_. Tell me more about these magic pouches. Is there anything I need to know about them other than angels can't touch them."

"Not just angels. Anyone. Great shame is on anyone who loses their talisman."

"And curses, apparently."

She nodded gravely. "Warriors, especially, will do anything to reclaim a stolen talisman pouch, but we'd need to run a lot faster to escape a warrior. And if they catch you, they give you a bad thumping. This one just belongs to a gatherer, but we'll still get a decent ransom if it isn't corrupt."

"It isn't," he promised.

Fraq grinned suddenly. "You know who else really cares about their pouches?"

"Who?"

"Dames. They think the power, or their Talisman pouch directly influences how many males they can draw into the Spire for coupling. Come on, I heard there's a festival in the commons. Maybe we'll find some Dames there ripe for snatching."

"Shouldn't we wait for your friends? What if they were caught?"

Fraq looked around as though just realizing they weren't with them. "Bof and Grog can take care of themselves." And she tugged him along again. It was just as well. Maze wanted the hair-moss, and the market was where he needed to go to get it.

And then he could go back to bed.


	15. Shenanigans: 2 Letting Loose

**Shenanigans 2/3**

* * *

He heard the drumming long before they reached the market. The sound traveled despite being muffled by the ashy air. He hadn't heard anything like it before, and he grabbed Fraq's arm and pulled her to the side. "What's happening?"

She raised her eyebrows and then started laughing. "What do you think it sounds like?"

"A battle?"

She nearly doubled over with mirth. "Don't you know what music is?"

He snorted. He knew music better than any Lilim could imagine, this was not music. "This isn't music."

But Fraq shook her head and grabbed his hand and tugged him along. "No battles, no thunder. Come and see for yourself."

The noise of it only grew louder the closer they got. So loud and so deep he felt his bones vibrate with the strange rhythm. He had his hands over his ears by the time they reached the actual square.

"You're sure this isn't a battle?" he asked Fraq. She didn't hear him. He asked her again, much louder and right next to her ear, and she grinned and tugged him toward it.

The crowd of Lilim in the center of the square were tossing themselves around as though they were fighting, but with no visible opponents. It made no sense. Howling shrieks rose up through the cacophony of noise, the same cry they made when they fought, but again, they all seemed happy with each other at the moment.

Fraq pulled him to the edge of the turmoil and started hopping around and throwing herself about as well.

Was it an illness? He pulled her out. "What is wrong with you?"

"Dancing. Come, you'll like it." She grabbed and pulled him forward again.

He tensed as he entered the fray, expecting some manic possession to overtake him as it had everyone else. He didn't feel any different. Fraq continued holding his hands and jumping around, and then rolled her eyes.

On her tippy toes, she leaned up and yelled into his ear, "You have to move. Jump, do what I do. Feel it!"

Still cautious, he hopped in place. He didn't feel anything other than his bones reverberating from the deep sounds.

A flask moved through the crowd, Lilim drank and then passed it on. Fraq snatched it, took a swallow, and shoved it at him. "Drink!"

Oh. Alcohol. He took a sip. It was much stronger than anything he'd had yet. And sweet, he definitely liked that. He took another long gulp before handing it back to Fraq, and she passed it on to travel the crowd once more.

A familiar smell reached his senses. Hair-moss. A stick of that made its way around as well, Fraq ensured he had a fair turn, and then that too carried on its way.

His limbs began to relax, the sound nestled deep within him, Fraq continued hopping around, and tried again. She grinned and let out a wild howl, and he felt it. The sound moved him. He hopped with the beat, swaying and following Fraq's lead as they pounded the ground together.

But then she grabbed his hand and tugged him out of the circle. Lucifer followed reluctantly. He'd only just found this new pastime, why leave it so soon?

"Dames!" Fraq grinned, her fangs and sharp little front teeth glistening.

Oh right. She wanted more pouches to steal. He let her pull him off to the side.

"Do you want me to create a diversion?"

"The festival is the diversion. Anyway, the Dames won't pay attention to you. You aren't the kind of male they want. When I pass you the pouch, hide it in your cloak. They won't be able to prove I took it if I don't have it on me."

They'd done this before. In the unlikely scenario that Fraq got caught, she'd be searched, and without any evidence of her misdeeds on her, they'd have to let her go without a beating. Anyway, he still needed the hair-moss for Maze. Rillam's shack was close enough for a waiting point.

Rillam grumbled at him when he pushed coin her way. "Move along. Can't have you scaring away my customers."

He rolled his eyes, used to her insults by now, and didn't take it personally. "What is the celebration about?"

She shrugged. "Does it matter? A reason to party is reason enough." Rillam laughed.

There had been celebrations in the Silver City. They were always serious events accompanied by specific rites and songs of praise.

He tucked the hair-moss into his travel bag and turned, casually searching the crowd for Fraq. She was slinking around a group of dames at a leather stall. No one paid her any attention. What was so special about them that…

Oh, there was Izuden. Her dark hair brushed her shoulders, hanging down as far as her spiraling mauve and gold flecked horns rose up, and the colorful leather dress she wore was wrapped tightly around her breast and hips, flowing out around her feet. Her face was painted gold to match her eyes.

_Twisted maggot-tails._ Of course, as luck would have it, Fraq had narrowed in on Izuden for her thieving. He sliced through the throng of Lilim to the stall where Izuden was testing the texture of fine hides, and 'accidentally' bumped Fraq with his hip, sending her sprawling.

She jumped up and the stink eye she sent his way was impressive. He waved her away with a hand behind his back as he stepped up beside her intended target.

"Issiden!" He cleared his throat as she looked his way. Why was he always mucking up her name? "Izuden." On his second try, the word formed more clearly and he grinned. The chances she would acknowledge him were grim. It would do Izuden's social standing no good to consort with a _beast_ like himself, and he fully expected to be outright rejected than receive any kind of friendly greeting. But, at least, his mission to foil Fraq's theft was a success.

"Samael?" She blinked at him and brought her hand up to his face, touched his skin in wonder. "Your skin, how?"

He'd forgotten the last time she saw him had been so different, it was a wonder Izuden recognized him at all. He self-consciously looked down at his hands. "A glamour—"

It caught him completely off guard when she grabbed his hand and dragged him closer to her companions. "This is the living angel! This is Samael, I told you about him."

They stopped and stared, open-mouthed.

"Uh?"

Izuden grinned. "I was there when warrior Mazikeen delivered him to our Soverain," she told the Lilim beside her proudly. Her companion was tall, her nose and both cheeks were bone and sinew, and her eyes an even brighter gold than Izuden's. She was very round and protruding at the waist, a feature the Dame seemed proud of showing off.

"Did Mazikeen bring you out for the festival?" Izuden asked, searching the faces nearby.

"No, I'm here with—" he glanced over at Fraq, still glaring daggers at him. He didn't like the implication that he needed an escort to leave Maze's dome. "I'm here by myself."

Izuden's eyes grew wide. "Wow! Mazikeen let you out on your own?"

"Yes, yes, I've been out on my own before."

Izuden clapped her hands excitedly. "That means you're all mine for the next few fingers of ash. Oh, this is going to be amazing."

"Wait, what?"

"Tatiana, give me your thistles. He likes thistles." She grabbed a sack from her round companion and shook one of the treats onto her palm. "You've been good. Have one."

He gently pushed her hand away from his face. "Uhm, I've—" Maybe insisting he was alone hadn't been such a great idea after all. He gestured toward Fraq to come to his rescue.

Fraq only scowled and shook her head before disappearing back into the crowd. Great.

"Izuden—"

But she was back at grabbing at her companion. "I taught him to talk. Listen to him, he forms words so well now." She turned back to him excitedly. "Say, dizzy-eyed flapdragon for us!"

He should have let Fraq steal Izuden's pouch. "Izuden—"

"You can do it," she encouraged.

"I know I can. I don't want—"

"Don't be shy. I've told all my companions about our journey together."

"Okay, fine. Dizzy-eyed flapdragon."

She squealed and clapped her hands again, looking to her companion with pride. She offered him the thistle again. He swallowed the foul taste creeping up his throat as images of being fed thistles after each Lilim finished coupling with him. But rather than stand and let them look at him as though he didn't understand, he took the treat and forced it down quickly.

"I should get back to Mazikeen," he tried to excuse himself.

"Oh right, I guess you're only allowed out for a short amount of time?"

Lucifer was tempted to roll with that, but indignation got the better of him. "No. I don't need to get back to her, I just—"

"That's perfect, I want to show you the Leisure Hall the Spire put together."

Anything to do with the Spire made his skin crawl, but she had hold of his elbow and was already directing him across the market. He pulled away. "Izuden, no. I don't want to have anything to do with the Spire."

She seemed shocked at first, but then squared her shoulders and gazed intently into his eyes as she placed a hand securely on his arm. "Samael, you don't have to be afraid. I can protect you."

First things first, every time she said his other name he wanted to shudder. "I don't go by the name Samael anymore. My name is Lucifer." And he already knew she couldn't protect him. But that was beside the point. "I'm not frightened. I don't want anything to do with the Spire."

"But it was the handler responsible for your care who hurt you, not the dames. You can't blame the whole Spire for what happened."

Yes he could.

"Then how about the fashion tent instead, then?" She suggested and poked at his cloak and chiton. "Not that these aren't serviceable, but would you like to see what's popular? I'll buy you a flask of fermented tea."

"Why are you insisting I come with you?"

She shrugged and glanced away. "I thought, maybe, we could have fun. Like we did when I first met you on the trail."

"That wasn't fun for me."

"But, I remember you smiled. I remember you laughing as we sounded out words together."

"I was a prisoner."

"But, what about after, in the Spire, when I visited. There were many ashfalls I came to you and we talked. I taught you more words. That wasn't horrible was it?"

"After Maze went away, your visits were all I had to look forward to. You were the only thing left that _wasn't_ horrible. And when you stopped coming..."

Izuden visibly swallowed, and her horns flushed into a deeper purple. She reached out and touched her fingers to his. "Will you come share Fermented tea? I can buy some more thistles."

"No more thistles." Lucifer was the one who took her elbow this time and he steered her away from the snack vendor. "Don't treat me like a beast to be rewarded for performing tricks."

"I thought you liked thistles."

He did like them. Or he used to. He sighed and gestured in the direction they had been going. "The fashion tent?"

"Yes!" she grinned and got excited again, pulling him along as she had before. "They have the best fitted tunics. You need to try them on. And leggings and sandals. We're getting all kinds of new materials from the conquest of Regolith's Collective, it's fantastic."

Lucifer followed, half listening to her chatter on and on about cuts and textures and colors. He really didn't understand the point to it all. Wasn't one body covering the same as any other? It was all inconvenient and restrictive.

The tent was on the edge of the market, far enough away from the booming noise of the drums to be able to hear clearly. She pulled him to the side where all the leathers and vendors were and started pulling off his cloak. "Take your clothes off."

Lucifer glanced around. There were sheltered from the ash here, but Maze had seemed adamant about the necessity of covering his body outside of her dome. He hesitated.

Izuden rolled her eyes. "How else are we to figure out what fits you?"

She had a point. There was a group of female Lilim with their tunics off, standing at another table trying on various tops. And Maze had meant outdoors, hadn't she? He unpinned the chiton.

"Sandals and leggings too," Izuden urged.

There were hides on the ground for walking on, and he certainly wasn't about to argue against taking the sandals off. "Now what?"

"Now, we find things for you to wear." She eyed him critically, and then sorted through a rack of cut leather before pulling one out and holding it up in front of him. "Try this one."

It was just a long piece of leather with two holes in it. "How?"

Izuden turned back to him and blinked. "Oh, yes. I forget you don't know things." She took the piece and held it so his arms went into the holes, and then brought it up to his shoulders and wrapped around the front, the length reaching just above his knees. "How does that feel?" Her body pressed against his as she stood at his back and wrapped her arms around his waist to fasten the belt.

A commotion caught his attention near the entrance…

Maze. His heart and stomach flipped and he wasn't sure if he should be relieved or ashamed. Izuden seemed to have the same reaction and quickly took two steps back, putting distance between them.

"Lucifer," Maze strode up to his side and eyed Izuden with disdain. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder and she stood so close their hips pressed together.

"Mazikeen," Izuden grinned and gestured with quick movements to the leather table. "Doesn't he look fabulous?"

"He does," Maze agreed.

Izuden beamed. "Does the tunic feel good, Lucifer?"

"Yes, actually." The leather was soft, and even the end cut pieces didn't pinch or rub against his skin. Maze's presence and close proximity distracted him from saying more as her hand traveled down his back and to his hip. She stepped to the side, and looked him up and down.

Maze looked back to Izuden, "How about leggings?"

"Oh, yes," Izuden hopped off to search the inventory laid out in front of her.

Lucifer glanced at Maze, "How did you know where to find me?"

"Your little whelp friend came running, said you'd been stolen by dames." She smirked. "I have to admit, this is not what I expected to find."

Lucifer glanced over at Izuden. "She said there was fermented tea here."

Izuden returned and passed a pile of leggins to Maze.

"Try these on," Maze passed them to Lucifer, and it did not escape his notice that Maze had placed herself as intermediary between himself and Izuden. The sudden shift in power dynamics confused him. Izuden was a dame and technically Maze's superior, but Maze assumed authority despite what he understood about social hierarchy. The roles here weren't rigid, and seemed as chaotic as everything else he'd encountered so far.

Izuden continued following Maze's lead, sorting through the garments and passing the ones Maze expressed interest in. Maze took over helping him with the complicated garments and showed him how to correctly put each one on, all while avoiding making him feel ignorant for not knowing things he'd never encountered before. It was a welcome contrast to how felt with Izuden's help.

There were so many outfit changes, by the end, he knew the ins and outs of how to pull on and off the body coverings about as well as any Lilim did.

When Maze seemed satisfied with the result, she tugged him off to the side where a tall black slab of stone leaned against tent wall. "See?"

The polished black surface reflected an undistorted reflection. Lucifer grinned and admired the image looking back at him. Perhaps this whole body covering thing wasn't so bad after all.

Next came the sandals and it wasn't nearly as torturous as he expected. He couldn't believe how soft they were. Izuden grew brave again and even spoke to him directly despite Maze's presence.

"Can you put these on yourself?"

Maze scoffed and intervened. "Of course he can," she answered in his stead and stood aside as he crouched and fastened the sandals.

Satisfied, Izuden stuffed his old clothing into his travel bag. "Now that his attire is presentable. We need to work on his face. Mazikeen?"

Maze eyed him critically.

He brought a hand up to his cheek, worried his glamor had slipped. But no, he felt only smooth perfect skin. "There's nothing wrong with my face."

Maze gave Izuden a nod, and the dame broke into a huge smile. "You're going to love this," she promised and dragged him to the other side of the tent. There were various tables set up with all kinds of paint, sticks, and powders. She picked up an assorted tray and brought it to a collection of soft mats on the ground.

Lucifer sat and poked at the various tools on the tray. "What is all this?" he asked and picked at a dark stick out of a little pot and drew it across the back of his hand. It left a thick dark mark.

"You've never decorated your face?" Izuden asked eagerly.

"Why would I? It's perfect as it is." His fingertips were smeared where he'd touched it, and he looked around for something to wipe them on, finally deciding on the inside of his travel bag. Even then the marking didn't come completely off.

"Stay still," Maze murmured plucked the little stick out of the jar and reached at him. "This is kohl."

Lucifer leaned away.

"You want to see what this does or not?" Maze asked.

"Fine."

She reached for him again, the kohl stick in her hand aiming straight for his eye and he reeled away.

Maze sighed. "Izuden, do me first, so he can see what its for."

The dame nearly bounced with excitement as she took the same stick from Maze and got really close to her face. Maze looked up at the ceiling, and Izuden started tracing the kohl around her eyes. Lucifer watched with rapt attention.

The stick wasn't going in the eye after all, only outlining the area around it, making the eye seem larger. Brighter.

"Why have you never done this before?"

Maze shrugged, careful not to move and disturb Izuden's line. "Haven't had a reason to."

Izuden's tongue poked out of her lips as she concentrated, and then ended with a flourishing line out at the side.

Mazikeen blinked a couple of times, and then smiled. She turned to Lucifer. "Ready?"

He nodded and did as she had and looked up at the ceiling and resisted the urge to blink or turn away. Maze didn't stop with outlining his eye. She made extra sweeps with the stick, dabbing more paint as she continued. He waited patiently, trying to blink as little as possible until she finished.

She leaned back and grinned. "I like it. Go look in the mirror," she suggested.

And Lucifer went, he stared at his reflection, at his outfit and his outlined eyes. It looked strange. There were smudges running from the outline, dipping outwards, seeming to fade as they went. So different than who he used to be. Excellent. He returned to Maze and Izuden and looked over the rest of the tray. There was so much more than kohl to play with. "What else is there?"

Izuden hummed. "There is paint for the lips, and for the eye lids. We can also make a design along your face if you want."

He grinned. "I want it all."

Maze brought fermented tea and assorted edible — things on a tray— back to where they sat on the mats. They drank as Izuden and Maze took turns with the colorful pastes in the pots.

Izuden chose blue paint for her lips, and Mazikeen went with purple. Lucifer chose black for himself. Then came the cheeks, he found something with a gold tinge to it and passed it to Maze to paint on him. Maze chose a combination of colours in swirls, and Izuden added some designs in blue to the gold she already had painted on her.

The tea was both bitter and sweet, and left a tingling sensation on Lucifer's tongue that he enjoyed, even though it did make speaking Lilim somewhat sloppier than usual.

"Issooden," he said and tilted his head to the side when the fancy dame looked his way. "Repeat after me." He slowly sounded out a wave of song.

She made a face and laughed before taking another sip of her own tea. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Maze flicked the younger Lilim's arm. "Just do it, it makes him happy to show off."

With a slight frown, Izuden copied the noises.

Lucifer laughed loudly and rolled onto his back. "No, not like that." He repeated again, the song slow and clear. "Again, come on."

She tried. She sounded it out, followed his careful instructions, and finally was able to form something relatively close to what he'd told her. He offered her a small flesh object that he assumed was edible and she accepted.

Izuden rolled her eyes. "Those weren't words."

"Angel words," Maze interjected.

Izuden puzzled over it. "What did I say?"

"I don't know how to translate it," he laughed and finally sat up when Izuden growled. "Okay, okay, I'll try," he said, still laughing. "Time bends in waves of light."

Lucifer laughed all the harder as both Maze and Izuden looked confused.

"Is that supposed to mean something?"

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "About as much as _dizzy-eyed flapdragon_ means to me."

Maze cleared her throat and let out a warbling off key grunt and Lucifer smiled with delight.

"My name!" he leaned in close to her and playfully nipped at her neck. "So you are teachable," he teased, then laughed again at the marks left on her throat from his painted lips.

Izuden poured him more fermented tea, and he eagerly drank it up.

He watched the Lilim around them, sorting through the piles of leather coverings and painting themselves and others. A male was having his horns decorated with a glittery paste that reminded him of distant twinkling stars. Would any of his siblings appreciate these things as much as he did?

Fingers snapped in front of his face and he blinked. Maze sat glowering at him, "Where'd you go?"

"Somewhere I doubt I'll ever go again," he said, feeling a tightness in his chest at the thought.

Maze stared at him, "Its time to head back." She stood up and reached for Lucifer's hand. He stood with her but wobbled a moment before finding his balance. His lips and fingers and toes felt numb and his eyes felt slow as everything moved around him in a swaying fashion. It was delightful. Maze kept a firm grip on his arm, a steady force in the shifting world around him.

Izuden was suddenly at him, her arms around his neck and nuzzling his face. He smiled and blinked at the attention as she pulled away and whispered something to Maze that made them both laugh.

Everything looked new like this. Colorful in a way it never was with clear eyes. "Maze, the drums, I want you to listen to the drums," he tugged her toward the throng of wildly moving Lilim and she followed. Or was she leading? It was hard to tell.

The closer they got to the drumming the more he could feel the rhythm pounding in his bones, and he started hopping along with the rest of them. Maze joined, her hand never leaving his.

Everything else fell away, there was just the beat and there was Maze, the way things should be. The pounding rhythm changed and the Lilim around them howled and screeched, and he let out a noise along with them that set Maze laughing. He did it again and she copied, and everything felt good and alive.


	16. Shenanigans: 3 The Storm

**Shenanigans 3/3**

* * *

Something was wrong.

The new clothing and eye kohl Izuden introduced him to had proven to be lasting fun. He'd experimented for hands of ashfalls with the kohl and face paints using different techniques and styles, but in the end, he settled on thick dark outlines around his eyes. Applying the lines provided only a minor distraction from the tension within him this ashfall.

He couldn't ignore it. A restlessness stirred deep within. A vitality.

His back itched when he tried to contain his wings, only feeling better—feeling right—when he brought them forth and allowed them to stretch out.

Sparks of divinity sizzled between his feathers; their luminescence uncontainable.

"What's going on with you?" Maze griped, squinting as she looked away.

"I have no idea," he admitted. "Do you feel it, Maze?"

"Yes, it feels like a spike being driven into my skull. You're going to dark-blind me."

He flexed his wings up against his back and pulled a cloak over them. Maze took one look at him and nearly fell over with laughter. "You look like a giant glow-worm."

Whatever a glow-worm was it didn't seem as funny from his perspective, but at least the cloak protected Maze's eyes.

He felt… alive. Renewed. As if a great weight had been lifted from within. As if all this time something had been holding him back and it had only just released its hold. He felt like himself; marvelous and awesome in divinity. His wings felt fierce, filled with potential. Lucifer couldn't sit still.

Maze suggested, not kindly, to take himself elsewhere, but even walking in the lanes didn't settle the growing agitation within.

The shadows cast by his light stretched and warped shadows down the lanes he walked. The divinity repulsed the ash, it fell around him, drifted near but never landed on his body or wings. He could breathe deeper, the air felt fresh and free of toxic debris.

No one got in his way. No one dared approach or even look in his direction. No one aside from Fraq. She and her little male companions could not be deterred. They trailed behind him everywhere he went.

"Can't you put your wings away? The light makes my eyes hurt." Fraq complained as she jogged to keep pace.

Lucifer rolled his shoulders, but it was too much to keep inside and attempting to dull them only resulted in a surge of brightness.

"No." The low noise he'd heard since the beginning of ash-fall grew in intensity. "Fraq, do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"It's like the drums, but coming from the ground. It's all around us."

"Have you been smoking hair-moss with Mazikeen? Let's go throw rocks at the rats near the wall."

He followed the three of them as they ran out toward the outer sections of the collective. He recognised this area. It was close to where Maze took him to the wall.

"Not that way." She grabbed his hand and tugged him in the opposite direction of the burned-out domes. "Its cursed."

"Why is it cursed?"

"Because it is," Fraq answered with full confidence.

It was just like her assertion about the talisman pouches holding power. "Things aren't cursed for no reason."

"Shh. It is not to be talked of," she whispered and glanced quickly up at the above before hurrying away.

"Why is it not talked of? What is wrong with talking about it? And how am I supposed to know what can be said and what can't?"

"You ask more questions than spawn do!" she teased.

"What are spawn, and what's so bad about asking questions?" He raised his arms with frustration and his wings flared with unexpected intensity. Fraq skipped away but returned to his side once he gained control over himself again. "Don't you ever wonder if the things you've been told are true?"

"No." Fraq shrugged. "Why would everyone believe something if it wasn't true?"

He released a sigh of annoyance. "What if everyone is wrong?"

"That's ridiculous, everyone can't be wrong," she scoffed and ran ahead, Bof and Grog followed with excited howls.

Lucifer watched them run ahead and contemplated running after them. But why should he run if he could fly? His wings twitched with anticipation.

He tested it first, a forceful push down, ash blew up and around in the wake of power released, blowing outward. That was considerably more power than he expected. He extended wings up, and swooshed down and—

He was in the air. He whooped with excitement. He was in the air! Another beat of his wings and he gained height, again and again, the air rushed past him and the ash parted as he cut through the drifting flakes. He climbed until he had to fight the wind, then he tucked, and fell fast. His wings extended, catching him, and swooping him back up.

It was exhilarating. His heart raced; he was alive!

And he could see the collective below him; the Lilim in the lanes. The chaotic layout of the domes haphazardly stretching in all directions out from the Spire. From here, he could see there had once been some basic forethought to city planning. Lines reached outward from the Spire at the center of the stronghold, the remains of the original pattern only vaguely visible from the high vantage point.

He descended again, looking now for his land-bound companions. They were gathered in the lane, staring up, waving their arms frantically. He tried to control his landing, to bring his wings in enough to land softly but without stirring up more ash than necessary. He stumbled and skidded; nearly crashing into Fraq. Not his best landing, but not shabby for his first time in so long.

Fraq coughed and pulled her cloak up over her face and the little males scattered. The ash refused to settle on or around him, and he stood beaming from the only clear spot of air.

Fraq stared at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. "You flew."

"I did," he stated proudly and folded his wings up at his back. For the first time in a long time he felt whole again. The glow spread, divinity emanating all around him.

Fraq trembled and took a cautious step back. "What are you?"

"What I've always been," he grinned, extended his wings again. All the soreness, the tiredness he'd felt for so long was gone. No pain. None. His wings were pristine.

Fraq continued shivering, but she didn't back away any further. "Are you—"

"Where is this place you want to throw rocks?" he asked. Why weren't they on their way already?

She pointed ahead. "This way?"

He started walking and paused when he noticed she hadn't followed. "Coming?"

"Yeah," she agreed, uncertainly, and skipped to catch up.

…

This was new. The wall here had crumbled. There were no signs of deliberate destruction, only neglect. Lucifer picked around at the ruins, interested in the construction and subsequent failure of the structure. It had been built of rocks of various sizes, shaved down and fitted together like an intricate puzzle. But age had caused the rock to deteriorate and break apart.

His companions collected armloads of rocky debris and climbed up on the still standing portion and dumped their rocks into piles.

He stared up again at the above. Was the ash cloud churning faster than it usually did? "Does it look different?"

Fraq stared up. "The seer was at market yelling about the coming of the dragon who will devour us all." She nudged Lucifer's arm. "Are there dragons in the above where you come from?"

"Dragons?"

"Giant beasts of the air that devour all they come across."

"And it's coming here?"

"No, you slug-brain. It's only stories. A hand of ash-falls ago she was screaming about fire from the above burning all the fields of moss. Fields of moss, she screamed! No such thing, everyone knows moss and fungus only grows away from the ash. She's addled."

"No dragons?" Lucifer asked. "You believe in magic pouches but not in magic Lilim?"

Fraq laughed. "Everyone knows the seer is full of gas. The dragons were all chased away by the mighty warriors before the days of collectives began. The nest-minders told us the only dragons left are in the outer-lands."

"I'm going to look around," he called over. Fraq nodded and tried not to look like she was watching him. Lucifer made sure to walk a fair distance away before taking off, hoping to minimize the amount of ash swept up around the other Lilim.

It was easier to take flight the second time. He circled over where Bof and Grog were still collecting rocks and dumping them into piles and then flew higher and looked out over the collective. These were the sights he was meant to see, not the suffocating limits the land-bound were consigned to.

He circled around again and soared out over beyond the stronghold wall.

Fissures in the land opened below, the darkness sinking farther than light could reach, and heat wafted up from the depths. He drifted on the air currents, dipping and rising with various changes of air density. Flying felt just as random and chaotic as navigating the lanes within the collective, and he loved it.

Above, the ash cloud coiled in its spiral, the pressure mounting within. Lucifer could feel the power shifting within it.

Not dragons. But something was happening up there.

Further out, he spotted some beasts among the craggy hills, four legged creatures with giant horns, an entire herd of them. They scattered as he flew over. In the distance a winged creature caught his eye, large, judging from the wing-span. Its tail stretched out behind, long, whipping through the air. A piercing scream filled the air and dove into one of the fissures.

That was when he looked back and realised how far he'd traveled. How much time had passed? It was easy to lose track without the build of ash up to measure it by. The wind had grown stronger, but that could be a factor of altitude. No matter. He was ready to test his speed. He rose on the next heat current, faced the collective, and with one forceful thrust of his wings, shot forward.

The rush was fantastic, the land sped past below in little more than a blur. He was only a little off target when he saw the wall draw closer and he circled and landed in nearly the exact spot he'd taken off from.

Fraq and her friends remained still as they watched him hop across the ruins to their location, instinctively using his wings for balance and ease of movement.

A collection of dead things lay piled at their feet. "Good hunting?"

Fraq growled at him and pointed her clawed finger at his chest. "Where did you go? I was worried you wouldn't come back."

He let out a quick snort. "Where would I go?"

"Back to where your kind live?"

Oh. "I can't go back there." Thinking about that other place soured his mood.

"Good," Fraq said resolutely. "I'm tired of losing males."

"Zek? How long will it take for him to become a warrior?"

Fraq threw a large stone at a wall just to watch it smash into pieces. "Never. He left his mentor. He's lost in a bad place."

"If you know where he is, we could find him?"

Her expression was thunderous. "Won't listen. He's lost."

Bof and Grog watched her warily. Lucifer felt like there was a large part of what she said he didn't understand, but he didn't pry. If she wanted to tell him, she would. He leaned on a fallen section and watched the males start chucking stones again.

"Are these to sell?" He faced away from the wind. Was it stronger than when he'd left? There were barely three fingers of ash on the ground. Unless wind-rise came very early, they still had lots of time before having to go back.

"No," Fraq laughed. "They're for roasting and eating. Want some for Mazikeen?"

"You should present them to her yourself," he suggested, hoping to avoid carrying the small beast carcasses through the lanes.

Fraq handed him a stone. "You can bring her one too. If it's a good one, she might even keep a fang for her Talisman pouch."

He felt the weight of the rock on his palm. "What would she want with that?"

"Tribute. She takes care of you, it's only right you bring her your kills in honor."

"And she'd like that?"

"She's a warrior. I know she would." Fraq pointed out below. "There's one. Try."

He watched the small creature climb out of a hole in the ground, its snout wiggled as it sniffed the ground. It had small red eyes, shaggy gray fur, and stubby legs with a long tail extending twice it's length behind it.

He eyed it intently. Fraq shifted impatiently beside him. "Maze will be proud," she encouraged. "Hurry before it scurries back under the rock."

He raised his arm, drew back, ready to throw, and aimed just above the creature. His aim struck true, with far more force than he intended, but it served its purpose and the small thing scurried back into its hole.

Fraq shook her head sadly. "Good strength, bad aim. Practice will make you better," and she patted his arm. "Better luck next time."

"Right."

Fraq was scanning the landscape for another potential target when the ash cloud above began to rumble. She looked up in alarm and whistled shrilly. The males dropped their rocks immediately and started shoving their dead things into a bag.

"Time to go."

Lucifer stared above. The rumbles grew louder, and the cloud churned faster. Tendrils of darkness started spinning down from the expanse like tentacles, elongating, reaching. The air around them sizzled with pent up energy and power. He felt it all around him.

"Funnels!" Fraq tugged at his arm. "Storm! It's coming quick. We need to find shelter."

The wind around them whipped in circles, the whelps coughed and pulled their scarves up over their noses and frantically searched for shelter.

The wind buffeted his cloak, but the ash swirled around him, never touching. "I feel it."

"What?" Fraq yelled above the howling wind around them. The males crowded to her side. "We have to go. Now, Lucifer."

Out in the distance, barely visible through the ash and darkness more funnels descended, they curled and twisted, their ends sucking at the ground.

Fraq pulled on him again, growing frantic in her desperation to move.

His fists were clenched so tight he felt blood on his palms from his fingernails. He extended his wings and their brilliance shone, the only light in the darkness around them.

"If we go now, we can still find shelter. Lucifer!" Fraq hit his arm, pummeling him to get his attention.

"Go," he shouted at her, pushing her away. "Fast. Go."

She left him and ran, pulling the males along with her, he watched as they crowded under the ruins. There was no way that pile of stone could protect them from what was coming.

He faced the storm again, and stared up at the ash cloud churning above, rumbling, lightning flashing within its swirling mass.

These were the agonies of a dying land. Why hadn't he recognised it sooner? The poisoned air, the barren ground. _What was this place_?

He felt the vibrations of the thunder in the rock under his feet.

The shifting energy within the storm pulled, and he wrestled back. The more he resisted, the stronger the winds blew. The darkness swirled around him, his wings and the light of his divinity the only thing able to cut through the raging chaos.

Divinity. Even here Lucifer was connected to his Father. His wings, the feathers they produced, embodied life and power. And the world around him was hungry for it.

The land needed it, the above drew on it. The imbalance wreaked havoc on everything around them. Life here was greedy for what he possessed naturally. He could feel the pull; if he didn't release the divinity built up over the last ashfalls, if he didn't act as a conduit to bring balance, the world around him would take it by force. And the storm that raged while he fought it would end lives and destroy parts of the collective.

It wasn't like last time. He hadn't known what was happening the last time a storm descended, he'd only acted on instinct. The storm had called, and he'd been compelled to answer.

Now he knew.

Fraq and Bof and Grog were hiding among the ruins.

He wasn't strong enough to fight an entire world. The longer he resisted the more he put everyone in the collective at risk.

At this moment he was everything he'd once been.

And he was about to lose it all, all over again.

Lucifer yelled, an ear piercing, rock shattering roar of fury and grief.

He held on a moment longer, building every speck of potential within, and finally, he gave it release.

His wings burst forth with divinity brighter than the most massive of stars, he was The Lightbringer once more, a rush of agony overtook him, his yell turned into a scream as he gave in to being the conduit between the land and the above. The power rushed through him, stripping him raw, taking all that he was with it.

And then it was over.

The world was dark, the ash settled. The roiling ash cloud above grew quiet and settled.

And Lucifer lay on the ground, empty.

He was only vaguely aware of Fraq and the males crouching over him, poking at his side and face.

"Did he die?"

Fraq smacked the male beside her. "No, you beetle-brain, he just blinked. Dead things don't blink." She tapped Lucifer's cheek, and more gently, she said to him, "I'll send Bof and Grog to get Mazikeen."

Lucifer shook his head. "Just help me get home." With effort, he pushed himself up. Head down. His wings hung on his back, heavy, unresponsive. He shrugged his shoulders, concentrated on bringing them in, the action sent his head spinning, but it worked. They disappeared. Went elsewhere. It didn't matter. He wanted them gone.

Ash fell and settled in his hair, he coughed as it was drawn into his lungs and he raised his scarf to keep from breathing it in.

Fraq wedged herself under his arm, pushing up with her legs to help get him to his feet. He slowly complied. The larger of her males—Grog—squeezed in on his other side.

Everything went hazy after that. He was there, but at the same time he wasn't. He watched the ground pass under him. Three steps, another three steps, and so forth, until they arrived at Maze's dome.

There was no one inside. He collapsed on the bedroll, and Fraq settled beside him. The males ran out to search for Maze.

"You saved us," Fraq whispered as she stroked her hand along his shoulder and back.

He didn't know how long it took. A long time, or mere moments, but Maze rushed in, and Fraq disappeared.

"I've been searching for you."

There was water and porridge. The hearth was built up to blazing and Mazikeen had her arm around him.

When he spoke, his voice sounded far away. "It's the land, Maze."

"Lucifer—" Maze began, but he grasped her hand. He needed to finish. To say it out loud.

"It draws on my power. I'm never going to be what I was."

Maze said nothing further, and they sat together quietly as he stared into the flames.


	17. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion: 1 Tribute

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion**  
** Chapter 1/20: Tribute**

_Adrift in guilt and self-destructive coping mechanisms, Lucifer discovers a talent for fulfilling sexual desires that the Lilim eagerly exploit _in exchange _for money, drugs, and perhaps his soul._

* * *

The wind pounded the door flap as the howling torrents raced between domes outside. They should both be sleeping, but Lucifer couldn't settle.

Everything was the same and yet different now that he understood what this place was doing to him. He hadn't successfully left the ground since his brief experience before calming the storm. The returned strength he'd felt, that he'd reveled in, was gone. This place drew on his power, and he couldn't un-feel it. Every waking moment—he was aware of the creeping sensation of his essence being drained. Used. Manipulated.

And then there was Maze.

She sat by the hearth working on carving intricate patterns into a bone handle and she hadn't looked his way at all. The tension in the air felt stifling.

"Sit with me." It was the first she'd spoken to him since she returned to the dome late in the ashfall.  
Her expression said this wasn't a fun invitation into her space. He sat, back straight, fortifying himself against whatever bad news was to come.

Instead, she untied her talisman pouch from her belt and held it reverently in her hands.

Elaborate workmanship decorated the hide, metal beads were woven into the detailed stitching picking out the shape of a fearsome set of fangs.

"On my next hunt, I will make you a pouch like this to store your trophies in." She untied the knot at the top and shook the contents onto the floor before them. It wasn't the first time she'd shown him the contents. There were small bones, teeth, a curl of tied hair, a glittering scale, and things Lucifer didn't know how to categorize.

"I heard about your exploits with Fraq and the others, when she stole the pouch off the gatherers the ashfall of the festival. It was a valuable take for a whelp like her, but you should know what it means. For a Lilim, our talisman or trophy pouches are more than just a mere possession." She poked at the assortment and picked one. A fang, black with age. "They contain our legacies. This is the oldest talisman I have. The beast it belonged to was loyal and hunted at my side for many years."

"What kind of beast?"

"A warg. A creature of the sulfur planes, bigger than a Lilim, and walking on four legs. They can tear their prey apart with one snap of their powerful jaws."

"I thought Lilim didn't consort with beasts." Bitterness coated his words, thinking how often the Lilim attributed that word, _beast_, to him.

"She wasn't like the others of her kind," was all Maze answered.

"What happened to her?"

"She died." She scooped up her treasures and dropped them back into her pouch.

Why was she telling him this story? What significance did it hold?

"Lucifer, Anilith has summoned me to the Spire."

The dread settled leaden in his stomach. "For what?"

"I don't have a choice, Lucifer. Anilith is calling for tribute. Every vowed warrior must pay." Her eyes were intense as she stared at him, as if beseeching him to understand. "I am vowed to her. I can not refuse. She has demanded that you appear with me."

Lucifer rolled his shoulders and banished his wings. "No! Maze. You said—you said—" He stopped and concentrated. As fluent as he now was in Lilim, her language was still foreign on his tongue, especially in moments like these. If only Maze understood Enochian, he could express himself with the ease and elegance he was used to. Lucifer cleared his throat and focused on the guttural tones of the Lilim. "Am I to be your tribute? Are you planning on putting a piece of _me_ in that pouch with your warg fang? I won't go back to being Anilith's captive, Maze."

"You won't. I won't let that happen. My Talisman Pouch is to be her tribute. It is my most valuable possession."

"What does she want with me?" Memories assailed him of being tied with that foul cord. Starving, thirsty. That Lilim in the spire...circling him as he was bound and weak, unable to struggle, his wings stretched, the metal tongs they used to—

"Lucifer!" Maze's voice sounded distant, but it cut through the memories, led him back to her dome. "Anilith can't touch you, can't order you to be touched, can't order me to take anything from you. You need to trust me."

"You know I do." How could she doubt that? "But she can order you to bring me to her." The chill settled deeper into his bones. He forced himself to sit up straight, copying Maze's pose, even as his joints throbbed with remembered pain.

"She wants to see you."

"Inspect me, you mean. Like a beast on display,"

"Yes. She will try to provoke you into responding. She will try to provoke us into making a mistake, but we won't." Maze patted the mat beside her. "Sleep. We will both need to be sharp."

He lay down at her side, but sleep was impossible. Maze rolled towards him and placed a hand on his chest. Her touch didn't comfort him the way he knew she intended it to. She was worried; the tension in her body was hard to ignore.

He wished for an extra-long wind cycle. Sometimes the cycles of ashfalls and winds were not consistent. Candles were much better at measuring time. How often did Maze growl impatiently, trapped inside until the air stilled enough to venture outside safely?

Luck was not on his side. If anything, the wind calmed early. Lucifer rose and tended to the hearth, setting a pot of water to boil and making porridge. He chose scalding ooze fungus. It was one of the sweeter tasting fungi for porridge. It was the first food he'd ever tasted in this realm, and he was still fond of it.  
Mazikeen didn't complain when he handed her the bowl. He knew the mixture wasn't popular among the Lilim, but he couldn't fathom why.

"It's time to get ready."

Lucifer stood and reached for the shoulder drape wrap, but Maze stilled his hand. "Today is formal." She reached instead for his new tunic and thicker leggings, spending extra time to make sure everything was placed as it should be. It was.

The rest of the time before they left, they practiced the formal protocol expected in the Spire. Lucifer tolerated it, knowing it was better to be prepared. But he despised the idea of being judged and put on display like a trophy animal.

"Head down," Mazikeen instructed, and lightly tapped the back of his head. He tilted forward, staring at the ground. "Don't look anyone in the eye. Especially Anilith. Don't talk."

"I know," he grumbled. Did she think he didn't remember? That he could forget their hatred of his speech? At least he had a semblance of his true form back now.

If only he could discard the hides Maze kept insisting he cover himself with and stand confident in his own skin. As fancy as the tunic and leggings were, nothing came close to the impressiveness of his angelic form.

They left the security of Maze's dome. Lucifer clenched his jaw against the humiliation to come. He stayed a pace behind Maze, his eyes lowered, mouth pressed tightly closed. He hid his wings away. The visceral revulsion at the thought of anyone in the Spire examining them was so strong he feared he might not be able to unfurl them when necessary.

The spire loomed over the collective. Its presence was sinister on a good day, but today it was the maw of a malevolent beast ready to devour him. Maze's instructions chased through his mind, looping and repeating: He was to be silent. He was not to raise his eyes from the floor. He was to stand and show his wings and keep still and not let his fists clench or his wings flay them for daring to disrespect him.

Maze, his proud and mighty Maze, demurely asked the guard to show them to the Soverain's audience chamber, and Lucifer's hands itched to curl into fists. She walked with her limbs loose and her eyes down. He knew he was the cause. Though Maze had never stated it directly, she had traded her freedom for his salvation from that chamber. The Soverain owned her because she saved him. The enormity of it threatened to swallow his soul. Maze stopped, and lost in his thoughts as he was, he bumped into her.

The reaction was swift and unexpected. Maze grabbed the front of his tunic and shoved him up against the wall. She pressed her face close to his and growled, but her voice was soft. "Pay attention. We can do this."

She released him with a shake and he bowed his head, eyes fixed on the floor, the very image of a cowed prisoner. A Lilim ordered them into the Soverain's chamber. He'd been there before. The memory of it haunted his nightmares.

His back itched at the memory; his hidden wings ached from it. This was the last room he had seen before being imprisoned underground into the dark...

_They'd dragged him in, bound and gagged. The flesh of his wings was raw from the constant extraction of the sensitive, developing, quills. He hadn't understood why. Only a few words had stood out to him in the rapid exchanges between the Lilim guards. He understood the word "feather." They talked and talked of feathers, and yet every time they started to regrow…_

Maze grabbed his sleeve and tugged him forward, reconnecting him to the present.

Anilith sat on her raised throne, her presence dominating his attention despite not being allowed to look upon her.

His skin prickled when Anilith spoke, her voice grating on his nerves like screeching metal.

This time he understood every word the Soverain said. "Mazikeen, my warrior, you have come to pay your tribute?"

He was vaguely aware of Maze bowing. She untied the talisman pouch from her belt. "My personal tokens, my Soverain."

A sharp breath behind them alerted Lucifer to the presence of another Lilim. He let his eyes dart to the side, stealing a glance without moving his head. Traz. He remembered her. _Remembered the gleam in her eye as she'd…_ She swaggered up to Maze and took the pouch to Anilith, her footsteps echoing through the chamber.

A tense silence followed. Both he and Maze remained frozen.

The silence made the sudden torrent of sound worse. "Insult!" Anilith shouted. She threw the precious bag to the floor, landing at Maze's feet. "You dare taunt me with this paltry offering?"

There was no response from Maze, but Anilith was on her feet. Lucifer raised his head enough to see her decorated sandals descend the stairs from the raised platform. Precious stones under her soles clicked against the stone floor as she circled them.

"I expected more from a true daughter of Lilith," Anilith drawled. There was no disappointment in her tone, only glee. "So, this is what our living-angel has become."

Her scrutiny shifting onto him made his skin crawl.

"The wings. Where do they go? I've seen their size, they do not fit into its back, do they?"

"I do not understand the workings of magic and divinity," Maze said. Her voice held none of her usual fire.

Anilith made a contemptuous noise. "Bring them out."

He waited for Maze's signal, knowing it was important to show he listened to Mazikeen, not to the Soverain.

"Do it."

Lucifer took a breath. He rolled his shoulders. The wings emerged with a violent gust of displaced air and he snapped them open to full extension. The impossible to clean ash trapped between his feathers dusted the air.

He couldn't help the grin of defiance from turning his lips as the Soverain stifled a cough. This wasn't like before. Those other times, he'd stood before Anilith, plucked raw, skin ruined and burned. But that was not who he was now. He had his divinity again; his wings were restored to their former splendor. Maze was mistaken. He should not be acting like a tamed beast, he needed to show Anilith exactly what kind of angel she was dealing with.

He would not cower—

"You know the penalty for a vowed warrior who does not offer a proper tribute," Anilith purred to Maze.

_Penalty?_

Lucifer's head snapped up. Anilith stood in front of Maze, a false smile pulling at her lips. A tall, elegant Lilim, Anilith highlighted her ebony skin with vivid red and yellow streaked above her eyes and painted onto her lips. She wore wide brilliantly colored rings around her neck, hanging down, combining with the gauzy white garment she wore to accentuate her bosom. Horns, painted gold and decorated with precious stones rose from the center of her head and swept backwards. Her eyes flicked over to Lucifer. The danger here wasn't to himself; it was to Maze. He ducked his head, but not before Anilith's smile turned genuine, reaching her eyes.

"Mazikeen, control your beast," Anilith purred.

Anilith walked a slow circle around him. He flexed his wings in, folding them against his back.  
"Order the beast to keep its wings spread. It's easier to count the feathers this way."

"Keep them spread," Maze echoed, her tone flat.

He did. The strength he'd felt before the storm was all but gone, the brief moment of confidence and wanting to show Anilith all he was turned back to dread.

Anilith walked around him slowly, taking her time.

He hadn't yet built up the strength to hold his wings up in extension like this for prolonged periods of time.

"These big ones carry the most divinity. I can sense it. Ten on each side." Anilith didn't touch, but she didn't have to. He felt her gaze felt like a physical sensation crawling over and through him.

His shoulders and back ached fiercely from the unnatural posture.

"How do you propose to assuage your lack of tribute to me, Mazikeen?"

"I will find a fitting beast to slaughter and return with appropriate trophies."

"Not good enough. You know what I want." Her gaze remained fixed on his feathers. The large primaries she had counted.

Lucifer's muscles shook from exertion. Never had he felt the land's draw on his essence as strongly as now, as though magnified by Anilith's presence. He strained to keep his limbs stretched out. Anilith stared at him. What was she seeing?

_Anilith had stood over him while he'd been bound, her handler pulling on his wing, inspecting the new growth, leaning in with pincers to grasp and extract—_

The memory sent a shock of real pain licking through his back. Lucifer's right wing gave way, falling limp to the floor, and he stumbled down to one knee before regaining his balance and footing. He straightened his back and forced them into full extension again.

Anilith's laugh sent fresh waves of pain alighting along each nerve. "I thought you were a beast trainer, Mazikeen? _Your_ living-angel isn't very obedient, is it? Hardly worth all this fuss. We could perhaps forgo tribute...if you returned the beast."

Involuntary shivers ran through his wings, rustling his feathers. He trusted Maze. But her greatest treasures, her _honor_, lay rejected on the floor. What else did she have to give, but him?

Maze's voice was hard. "The angel is not to be touched. Take it out of my flesh, if you must," she said and removed her tunic.

Lucifer reached for her, but she slapped his hand away, and marched to the chains at the end of the room. Across the chamber, Traz picked up a whip. She sauntered toward Maze, a flick of her wrist and the end of the whip cracked the air. Memories of those chains, those sounds, threatened to overwhelm him.

He couldn't let them do this. Not if it was in his power to stop it. He flexed his wing forward and grabbed one of the large primaries with his opposite hand and yanked. His breath caught at the searing pain shooting from the plume he gripped, heard it tear as it came free. Blood coated the end of the quill and dripped to the floor from the damaged follicle.

He lowered himself to his knees, his head bowed, the feather laid across his outstretched palms. He held it out, offering. _Let this be enough, don't hurt Maze._ Anilith's attention made his skin crawl, but she didn't react. Traz cracked the whip again, this time near Maze's head. In desperation, Lucifer spoke, "Your tribute. Take it."

Traz placed the whip on the ground and hurried up to him. She gingerly took the feather he offered into her hand and brought it to Anilith. Anilith accepted the gift, running her fingers along the soft barbs.  
"I can see you need a better way to demonstrate your service to me, Mazikeen. You will join my guard at the wall. I'm sure my guards will be eager to learn from a true warrior like you." She strolled toward the door, calling back to Traz. "Ten lashes for not controlling her beast. Add an extra ten if it dares speak or move without her command."

"Yes, Soverain," Traz replied.

Lucifer swayed in place, not daring to move. Maze would protest. This wouldn't happen. It couldn't. He gave Anilith the feather!

But Maze gripped the chains dangling from the wall, arms up and spread out.

He wanted to look away, close his eyes, scream. Anything. But he watched. Every time Traz snapped the whip across Maze's back, he flinched. He deserved to have the image of his failure burned into his mind.

He didn't turn away.

Maze made no sound. Blood trickled down her back, but she remained steadfast and silent. After the tenth lash she retrieved her tunic, pulled it on and walked over to Lucifer, her head high.

"Follow me."

He did. But he snatched her talisman bag from the floor as he stood and hid it in the folds of his clothes. She walked straight to her dome, with no outward sign of discomfort. But he knew her. He saw the stiffness in her step, the shallowness of her breath. Remembered pain ghosted across his own back. He knew exactly how those chains felt. They didn't speak. He knew of no words in the Lilim language that could translate what he wanted to say.

Back in the dome, Maze pulled off her tunic and sighed.

"Maze—"

"We aren't talking about this." She said and passed him the jar of healing salve.  
And he tended to her and did not speak of it.


	18. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion: 2 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**2/21**

* * *

Lucifer's wings wanted to burst forth, to unfurl, and carry him away from here. He pressed the basket he carried tightly to his chest and concentrated on keeping his wings contained. Even away, Lucifer imagined he could feel the pain of the ripped away primary. Maze marched ahead of him also carrying a basket and wearing a heavy pack. It was everything they were taking with them from Maze's dome.

Following Anilith's orders, Maze had been assigned to join the guard at the Collective's wall. It was not a coveted position. The wall guard were all vowed warriors: Lilim captured in border disputes and wars. They were cowards who surrendered in battle and got taken prisoner. That Maze should join their rank was a major insult. She didn't rage and rant. She didn't complain. He wished she would. At least she'd be speaking then.

Maze had packed in silence. Efficiently. She took her tools and crafting supplies in the basket she carried. Her personal items: dishes, clothing, bedding, and small items of value, she carried in her pack. She wore her armor and her weapons.

Lucifer's basket held his clothing, the eye kohl Maze had bought for him at the market, their food—mostly his since he still couldn't stomach the dead flesh that the guards would no doubt be provided. His mind recoiled at the thought of the disturbing food the Lilim ate, but Maze never insisted he try it, and he never suggested she should abstain.

His pack was smaller. He had no armor or weapons, no tools of his own or extra personal items like Maze seemed to have. He had far fewer clothes and no items of value. The empty places in his pack were filled with cleaning supplies. The disparity in the value of what they carried wasn't lost on him. Of course she wouldn't trust him with anything important after he failed her so spectacularly in the Spire.

Pack the food you like, as much as you can carry. They don't serve spawn food to guards, so you better make it last. He still didn't know the meaning of the word spawn, but he knew from its spoken tone that it was disgraceful to eat like one. He'd heard it plenty in the Spire. Maze had never spat the word at him before.

The one thing of value he carried, didn't belong to him. Maze's trophy pouch was tucked securely inside his clothes, next to his skin. Anilith had rejected it, insulted it. He'd been so proud of himself when he retrieved it from the floor. Until Maze had reached for it as she was dressing, only to remember she didn't have it. She'd shaken her head and muttered, "All will know that I presented my pouch when Anilith puts her tributes on display. Let her dare claim I presented nothing of value."

He gulped.

Maze shouldn't have been punished for his mistake.

He wanted to give it back to her, to explain his blunder, but she said they needed to pack; there wasn't time to talk. So Lucifer waited. They'd barely spoken to each other at all since the Spire. Waiting only made it harder to tell her what he'd done.

He couldn't show her the pouch now.

Lucifer's back ached with the effort of restraining his wings. Maze stomped ahead of him. She hadn't looked back since she turned away from her dome and said, "Follow me."

It was a long walk across the Collective to reach the portion of the wall she was assigned to. Maze veered off to the left and the Spire began to recede. Lucifer breathed a little easier.

They finally drew near the massive wall. Maze marched up the steps, and Lucifer followed. She hadn't told him any details about where they were going or what would be expected of him—had barely spoken to him at all since before they entered the spire. He directed his gaze to the ground and resolved to keep his tongue silent. He didn't know the protocol they'd be forced to live under now, but the safest course would be following her last instructions. Maze stopped outside the guardhouse door.

"Keep your head down. We don't know what we're walking into."

He nodded. Spire rules then. Most Lilim preferred it when he didn't counteract their assumptions and let them believe they were better than him.

She pushed through the door flap and Lucifer followed. Voices rose in consternation at his entrance.

"No beasts allowed in the barracks!" and "That thing can't be in here!" came through the loudest, but "monster" and "abomination" reached his ears, along with hissing, growling, and cursing. He took a step forward, his wings straining to unfurl. He could defend himself—no. The last time he'd intervened had been a disaster. He resolutely kept his eyes on the floor and stepped back in place behind Maze.

In response, she turned and grabbed Lucifer's arm, bringing him back outside. She put down her basket, shucked off her pack, and pulled her blades and set them down with a clatter on the basket. "Wait here."

"I can—"

She snarled without looking at him, and said, "Do not interfere."

She shouldered through the door flap with a blood curdling whoop, and pandemonium broke out inside. Lucifer itched to rush in, to help, but the weight of the talisman pouch against his stomach stopped him. Maze was better off without his help. The sounds of fighting tapered off and Maze's voice rose above the clamor, too muffled for him to understand the words, but her tone was pure venom.

The door cover swept open and Maze retrieved her things. "Hurry up."

Lucifer didn't respond. She didn't want him to speak, and she had already gone inside, so he followed. The atmosphere writhed with tension. Anger, fear, and malice jostled at him as he followed Maze to an empty section of the large dome. Along the walls, niches were built in, two at a time, one stacked above the other, and with enough room for the average Lilim to lay flat and sit up. A small space in front of it was partitioned off by hanging furs. Maze sat her things in the corner of the space and he set his on the other side.

"Sweep out the bunks. Use the top one for storage." She again didn't wait for his response, just turned and walked out of the alcove.

Lucifer bristled at the order, but he swallowed the retort. There was no privacy here. Maze had enough to contend with. He didn't want to add to her problems any more than he already had.

There wasn't much ash in the niches, but he swept it into his pan and set it aside. The Lilim moved around outside the alcove with low growls and snarls. Maze's voice wasn't among them. Busy. That's what he needed to be, so he unpacked their things, placing them into the top alcove. The dishes and cookware occupied one end, the clothing the middle, and cleaning and medicinal supplies the other. He set their rug into the middle space.

No one could see the talisman pouch, especially Maze. Not now. Neither of them liked purple jelly fungus, but he'd been sure to pack the jar for exactly this purpose. He tucked the pouch into the small jar and hid it at the bottom of his basket. She'd never look there.

He took the bedding from the basket and approached the niche. The dim light of the room left the depth of the space in shadows. He swallowed. It hadn't looked so foreboding when he was only cleaning it, but now… It seemed to grow deeper and darker. Bound. In the dark. He took a step back. He'd rather sleep in the wind driven ash outside than willingly go into that hole.

Maze had pulled him from the fiery lake. She'd freed him from his Father's eternal torture. She'd traded her freedom for him. He'd repaid her with defiance and brought her shame.

From outside the partition Maze said, "Get your cloak and follow me, Lucifer."

He stepped out and stilled. Maze wore a grey round helmet and a shapeless grey cloak obscured her armor. She turned on her heel and marched out of the barracks dome. He trailed after. She led him far out onto the wall. Small domes made of only columns and round roofs studded the top. Crude stone benches had been built along the walls, and bored Lilim wearing the same gray, shapeless uniforms sat staring out at the wastelands. The Lilim glared and growled as they passed.

The shelter Maze stopped at had no bench. Maze widened her stance and relaxed into waiting. Lucifer stood beside her. They could talk now. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. Several times he began, and stopped. The sound the lash made as it struck her back tainted every conversation he could think of. There had to be something—

"Go sit on the other side."

His spirits dropped. Maze was right. There was nothing he could say to make things right. Why try? He trudged away from her and plopped down. He should have known better. Seen and not heard. He could do this. He sighed and looked out over the ledge down to the lanes below. His Father had given him plenty of practice in doing nothing.

Shouting in the lane drew his attention to a small and stout but very angry sounding beast trying to bite a Lilim's leg. The chaos and energy of the collective drew him in. Watching the Lilim was better than the nothing Maze had to stare at. The wind here on the wall tugged at his clothes even while in the lanes the air remained calm. He tried not to cough at the ash the wind stirred up.

After three knuckles of ash, a slender guard wearing the same grey cloak as everyone else, but no helmet, trotted up to them. He carried a pail with two bundles of cooked flesh, and a jar of water in a sling on his back. Lucifer's stomach grumbled.

The Lilim offered him a bundle. No way was he eating that. "None for me."

Maze speared him with her gaze, but the whelp wasted no time, tearing at Lucifer's portion of the flesh like he hadn't eaten in days. Lucifer turned back to the city below. He would fill a jar with porridge before they came back the next ashfall. The slender one left, a spring in his step as he headed back toward the distant stairs. Lucifer's stomach grumbled and he picked at his clothes irritably. This shelter kept the worst of the ash off, but he was still coated in it, and he was hungry.

The winds blew harder stirring the ash in earnest, and Lucifer stood, shaking what he could from his clothes and hair. He waited for Maze to move, but she stood still as a statue until the winds tugged at their clothes, and they had to pull their scarves up to breathe. It was too late. Lucifer coughed against the accumulated ash in his throat and drawing air in was difficult. She set out at a jog at last, and Lucifer followed.

The ash choked his breath, obscured his vision, weakened his knees, but Maze remained as steady as she'd been all day. She opened the door and Lucifer stumbled through it, coughing. With an exasperated snort, she grabbed his elbow and dragged him to their alcove. He coughed a few times before catching his breath. Maze handed him a flask of water and he drank.

"Mazikeen's beast is weak." A voice from outside their alcove jeered.

Maze's face drew into a scowl, but she tugged on his scarf, still hanging around his neck. "I've shown you how to tie this, Lucifer. A loose scarf is worthless."

"Mazikeen the warrior? More like Mazikeen the sprog-minder!"

Howls of laughter rang out, and Maze stalked out of the alcove. The laughter cut off, and footsteps retreated toward the other alcoves. Lucifer pulled aside the hide, but Maze was the only Lilim left in the communal area. She took her ashy helmet and cloak off and hung them on a peg by the wall. Lucifer copied her, hanging his cloak and hood on the peg next to hers.

"Eat something, Lucifer."

The low burning fire of the hearth in the communal area held enough heat to make porridge, and Lucifer filled his belly, glad to be done with the gnawing hunger. The other Lilim crept out of their alcoves as Lucifer and Maze lounged near the warm fire pit. Narrow-eyed looks were tossed his way, but there were no more comments about beasts. All the same, it was a relief when Maze nodded at him to follow her into their alcove.

The relief was short-lived as the yawning maw of the niche reached for him. "Lucifer." Maze's sharp tone called him back. She had removed her armor, but retained her softer leggings. She held the jar of salve out to him. He took it and treated the lash marks. Two of them had opened and bled.

Maze remained silent through the ministrations, and when he finished she pulled her tunic back on.

"Maze—"

She grabbed his arm and shoved him back. Lucifer didn't resist. Was this it then? Would she deliver him back to Anilith? He wouldn't fight her. It was what he deserved. He didn't belong here any more than he belonged anywhere. They could throw him back in the dungeon, lock him in the dark, take whatever they wanted. As much as the thought terrified him, it would still be better than being used as an excuse to hurt Maze.

"You're to stay by my side at all times. Go nowhere alone." She spoke in a very low voice, even right in front of her he needed to strain to understand.

The words drew him out of his dark thoughts, confusing as they were in contrast to his expectations.

"You're under my protection." She patted his shoulder briefly. "We can do this, Lucifer. You've done well so far. Keep your head down and stay quiet until I get a better sense of the layout. I'll figure something out, I swear."

He nodded again, still not daring to speak.

She reached into the upper bunk to pull out a bag from her crafting tools. "I picked this up a while back and meant to give it to you." She held out a small bag of thistles.

He took the bag from her hand and stared at it, his emotions at war within him. He ate one, and she smiled at him for the first time since the Spire. "We should get some rest, it's been a long ashfall and my next wall shift begins as soon as the winds slow."

Lucifer looked back at the alcove. She hadn't given up on him. Not yet. The bunk was made for one, but they'd shared sleeping rolls many times. This was no different. He tugged off his clothes, folded them up and shimmied in, far enough for his back to press against the wall, and Maze crawled in after. Her bare skin pressed up against his.

"We're living on rations, now. It will be better to conserve what we have," Maze warned before blowing out the candle.

The farting and belching coming from the alcoves around them as the other Lilim also lay down to sleep helped ground him, remind him that this was far from the dungeon and the darkness he'd been trapped in before. The sound of snoring Lilim soon filled the air. Maze was silent, Lucifer rested his arm over her side. They lay facing each other, and he curled against her, his mouth close to her ear.

He tried to think in Lilim as much as possible, to forget that he'd ever known a language before Lilim, but there were times nothing else could suffice to express what he felt inside.

He sang the words in a whisper, the familiar lilt of Enochian ran off his tongue, it felt like cool fresh water to his throat and his thoughts. It flowed out of him as eloquently as it ever had in the Silver City.

"Shh, go to sleep, Lucifer," Maze whispered, and placed her hand over his mouth.

And he couldn't help but grin. He'd said what he needed to. Feeling lighter already, he licked Maze's palm to get her to move her hand away. She made a disgusted noise and let go of his mouth, but rather than withdraw, she squirmed closer, her breath was warm against his throat, and he wanted to be closer to her.

"No, shush," he whispered back and made her laugh out loud.

And, by the way she responded to him, she wanted to be closer as well. Facing each other they pressed together, her arm wrapping around him, drawing him in, surrounding him. Afterward, he rolled onto his back, Maze laying on her stomach, her arm over his chest and her leg over his hips, and he was content to have her weight over him. The confined space slipped away, replaced by Maze's skin, and together, no matter the circumstances, things felt alright.


	19. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion: 3 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**3/21**

* * *

Everything was different here at the Wall.

She didn't dare let Lucifer out of her sight. He'd been different since their meeting with Anilith at the Spire. She'd known taking him back there was a mistake. But of course, no one cared what she thought.

The incident broke Lucifer's trust in her. The way he shut down, refused to even look her in the eye anymore, let her know she'd failed him. All she could do now was carry on. She had her duty to Anilith, and she would honor it, but her duty to Lucifer came first.

He groaned in his sleep and she rolled toward him. She placed a hand on his chest, and it temporarily calmed him. The small bunk wasn't made for two, but it worked. They'd already had the habit of sleeping side by side, and she didn't want him unprotected at night. But there seemed to be something wrong inside him that manifested when they slept. He twitched and moaned, and she could see his eyes moving beneath his lids, as though they could see something that wasn't there. This wasn't the first time he'd behaved strangely while at rest, but this was worse than it had been before.

Maze grasped his hand and squeezed as he began making distressed noises. If she knew what was causing him pain, she would fix it. Lucifer's entire body twitched, and she tapped his cheek. "Lucifer."

He didn't respond. Not to her at least. Whatever tormented him continued on, and he writhed in pain, crying out. She pressed her hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. He flailed at her, body twisting, but she held fast. He drew in a deep shuddering breath and stopped struggling. She slid out of the alcove, dragging him along with her.

Was there a spider in the bunk? A beetle? He moved sluggishly, barely keeping himself from falling on the floor. Maze left him standing, groggily swaying on his feet as she searched the space. There was nothing. She grabbed his arm and turned him around, inspecting his skin for bite marks.

Nothing. "Are you injured?" she asked, and then shook him when he was too slow to answer.

"No, no I'm fine. Just tired. What are you doing?"

"You were in pain, I don't know why," she said and pushed him to sit down. "Were you attacked by something? Are you ill?"

"What? No. I woke you? I was…" he trailed off with a look that usually meant he was searching for a word.

"You were what?"

He frowned. "What do you call it, when you see things when you sleep?"

Maze shook her head. "When you sleep you sleep, you aren't thinking."

"You don't…go away?"

"Where did you go?"

"The Spire. Under it. I felt trapped-"

Maze grabbed his wrist. "Is Anilith using magic on you?"

"No, Maze." He pulled away and frowned, his gaze missing her in the dark. "I went there in my sleep."

She eyed him warily. Was it his power to roam with his mind?

"It wasn't real, Maze." He let out a long sigh. "I didn't mean to wake you." He patted until he found the edge of the bunk and shuddered, but climbed back in.

Maze lay down beside him, intent and watchful. They were both awake for a long time, though neither spoke. Lucifer scrunched as far as he was able to against the wall to avoid touching her, and she silently fumed. Why did he have to be so infuriating? She eventually felt him fall back asleep, and there were no more disturbances.

A routine set in. Maze woke at the sound of the bell that rang when the winds slowed. She joined the rest of the guard for a breakfast of meat over the fire. Lucifer began the habit of staying in their small alcove while the rest of the guards were gathered in the common area. It did no good for him to hide away and Mazikeen longed to drag him out with the others.

But Lucifer was different here. He was quiet and kept his head down. That kind of attitude would never help him integrate with the guards.

Mazikeen scraped every last bit of meat off the bone and then cracked it in half, and used it to pick at her teeth. When the meat was finished, the pot of water she'd set at the edge of the fire for Lucifer's porridge had come to a boil. She'd been bringing the hot water to him, since he refused to come to the fire, but the powder needed to cook thoroughly to be digestible. He hadn't protested, but she caught him holding his stomach when he thought she wouldn't notice. She frowned; there wasn't much fungus in the bowl he'd passed to her. Was he rationing his food? He'd been reluctant to hand the bowl over to her, only relenting when she snapped an order at him.

The guard's rations included enough of the poorest quality meat to live on, though not happily, and only a small portion of fungus for seasoning. No rations had been sent for Lucifer. She mentally kicked herself. They'd been here hands of ashfalls. Of course he was running low. She'd taken him to the market on their first free day. She'd been glad that he followed her closely and didn't cause a scene. Had he tried to draw her attention to the fungus stalls? They'd been right there. She shook her head. Needing to plan ahead for four full hands of ash between market visits must be foriegn to him when she had gone so frequently before.

She clenched her fist around the spoon. He didn't trust her enough to tell her of his mistake, but more than that, she should have noticed. Damn Anilith and damn her guard duty. At least obtaining more food for Lucifer was something she could fix.

Lucifer grew more distant and withdrawn each ashfall. She dragged him along with her to guard duty, but even in ashfall the winds were stronger on top of the wall and despite the mask pulled up over his face, the ash overwhelmed him quickly. He coughed longer each time they re-entered the barracks.

Even in sleep he was not safe.

He never told her more about where he went while asleep after the first time, but it was nowhere good. She nudged his arm, hoping that would be enough to quiet him for the night, but she doubted it. He grunted and rolled and quieted again. All the same, she tried falling back to sleep.

It didn't work. Lucifer grew restless again, groaned, his limbs moving randomly in distress. Maze sat up, hoping he'd settle and rest again. He released a low moan, and a pathetic whimper. Lucifer tensed, back arching in agony. His glamour fell away, returning him to the red, burned appearance he'd worn for so long. Mazikeen reacted in a heartbeat, one hand on his shoulder to hold him still and the other over his mouth to muffle the scream before it could escape.

His reaction was instantaneous, but she was ready. This too was becoming a common routine. He fought, trying to push her hands away, but Maze adjusted, straddling him, holding him down with her body and restraining his arms.

"Lucifer, Lucifer, stop, look at me," Maze ordered.

His struggles eased and he opened his eyes, staring up at her. She held onto him still, until she was sure he understood.

"The light, Maze, I need…"

Maze let him go and stood up, seeking out a candle to light. "Better?" She turned back to see Lucifer sitting up.

He nodded. "It happened again?"

"Yes."

"Maze—"

"I woke you before you made noise," she assured him. The other Lilim in the barracks hadn't been disturbed. This time.

He raised his hands, staring at the burned flesh for a moment and faltered, lowering them back to his lap. Slowly his skin smoothed as his glamour slipped back into place.

"We can't keep doing this," Maze whispered and crouched down at his side. "You told me a part of you goes somewhere else when you sleep. How do we stop it?"

He sighed. "We can't."

Maze felt her stomach twist at how raw Lucifer sounded. "You continue to be drawn to the Spire in your sleep?"

He nodded his head, lips tightly shut.

The sleep wandering had grown so much worse since their move to the barracks. Perhaps if she found a way to remove him from this place, he would fare better. And so, over the next few ashfalls, she arranged with the guard master to secure one of the empty, run-down domes close to the wall.

"We're moving back to our dome?" Lucifer asked after she told him to pack up his things.

"Not quite." She didn't miss the way his breathing hitched as he packed and she didn't. The alcove already looked too empty. She swallowed and reminded herself that he needed this and she couldn't be selfish.

He didn't speak until his things were all put away. His voice was soft as he said, "When we were called to the—"

She couldn't stand to talk about that while sending him away. "Not here, Lucifer. Come on."

His mouth snapped shut and he followed her to the new dome as quiet as a shadow. There were holes in the roof she needed to patch, and she would not trust it to withstand a storm, but it would be good enough. Lucifer set to work dusting and sweeping without being told, so she patched the holes, equally quietly.

They spent the ashfall cleaning and repairing, and moved the rest of his items in just before the winds picked up. He hovered near the door, glancing at her and then away as if he wanted to speak.

Maze put on her cloak.

"You're not staying?"

"Not this time. I will some winds, but I also have my duties, Lucifer. You'll live here. You can't stay in the barracks or stand watch with me anymore. It's not good."

He nodded. His head was down. She wanted to shake him. Tell him to look her in the eye as he used to, but force never worked with Lucifer.

"I'll be here when I can," Maze assured him.


	20. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion: 4 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**4/21**

* * *

_This is your fault_, a voice inside Lucifer's head taunted. He pushed the distracting noise aside.

There weren't enough coins coming in to stock their supplies. It wasn't Maze's fault. She fulfilled the duty of the post Anilith assigned her to, and ensured there was an ample supply of leather work for him to take to the market for trade.

It should have been enough to cover all their needs, but everyone knew he wasn't Lilim. No haggling or discounts were given to a beast like himself.

Rillam, the hide seller with green hair and scaly face, spat to the side as she looked over Lucifer's bag of finished goods. She eyed him as she reached into her pouch and tossed five ornate coins in his general direction.

"Where's the rest?" He waited for her to add to the pile. This work was worth far more than that.

"You think you can get better?" She pushed the pieces back across the table. "Go on. Try another stall."

He glared at her. They both knew no one else would buy from him. But as he reached to take the coins she placed her hand down on them. In her other hand she held five more coins, displaying them on the her palm. "Show me the beast face."

"And you'll give me the full worth of these items?"

She nodded and her forked tongue poked out of her mouth, moistening her lips.

_It's not important, this is your true face anyway, is it not?_ He pushed the annoyance in his mind away again; buried it.

Showing his true self was a small price to pay in exchange for having enough coin to restock their supplies. It was a choice he'd gladly make.

The glamour let go as he reached within himself, harnessing the disgust and contempt he felt there. Heat built within, spreading, twisting his skin into something else, something other…or so he wished to believe. But no, this monster was the real him. He let it manifest for just a moment and then released it, gliding back into his proper disguise.

He held out his hand for the extra coins, and the seller smirked as she deposited the tokens into his hand.

_It's your fault Maze was punished in the Spire. It should have been you._ The voice within took on one of his brothers' tones. He couldn't ignore it, even though he knew it wasn't real. It couldn't be. No one here spoke Enochian. He knew it was only a memory of his brother's voice, but he didn't know how to stop it. Why couldn't he stop it?

But it was right, whatever it was. He was the reason Maze was relegated to a position far beneath her dignity, subjected to the gossip and jeers of her fellow Lilim who rejoiced in seeing their betters humiliated and demeaned.

His chest squeezed tighter at the thought of Maze. She was a warrior. It was a powerful, respected thing. She was used to respect. She was proud and important.

He went round to the few stalls that would take his coin. They were small vendors on the edges of the market with goods below the standards of the main sellers. The dead flesh he purchased smelled worse here. The fungus tasted ashy, but they had to eat, and even here none would buy Maze's work from him. Rillam was alone in that. Exchanging coins for the things he needed was still an uncomfortable concept in his mind, foreign, just like everything else. How did anyone know the right amount of coins were being exchanged for the goods received? Listening to the other Lilim arguing over prices only confused him further. He'd tried it once, only for Rillam to tell him he'd better pay what was asked or risk not having anything sold to him at all.

There were no coins left after he was through, but he had the barest provisions he needed to survive. He wouldn't be going back to the dome empty handed.

It was much further to walk to their new dome by the wall. It was much smaller than what Maze had lived in before, the walls were crumbling and ash accumulated in corners from the drafts that found their way in. But they'd fixed it up as much as possible. The wind howled louder here than it had in Maze's previous dome, but as a shelter it sufficed.

He hung the dead flesh on the wall beside the hearth. Maze had commented before that she appreciated having food waiting for her, and he'd been diligent since then to keep their supplies well stocked in things she liked. Most of his coin went to purchasing the most recently deceased flesh at the stalls.

Guarding the wall took up most of her time, the least Lucifer could do was show her he could take care of things in the dome. If he kept the small shelter clean and well stocked with food Maze liked, maybe she'd come home more often.

He waited. The door covering flapped as the winds began to rise with the end of ashfall. He knew she would have come if she was able, so he tied the cover in place, securing it to keep the blowing ash out.

He lit a tiny bundle of moss, and filled his pot with just enough water for a single portion of porridge and ate alone. He shivered in the dark, but it was better to conserve the hearth moss. He kept the voices at bay as well as he could until he couldn't keep his eyelids open any longer.

And then he slept alone.

The dreams returned, as they always did. Dreams of being bound and unable to move, of darkness, of silence. When he woke up to those he lit one of his few remaining candle stubs and pulled a cape over his shoulders against the chill lodged deep within. Other times the dreams were of blue flames, of all encompassing pain, burning, screaming for help, for forgiveness, and hearing only taunts and jeers in answer.

He woke alone, and ate alone, and waited.

The whelps found him early on, and tried to coax him out to join them. Wasn't that what started this whole mess to begin with? Flaunting his presence to the Lilim? He was just a beast to them, his presence, no matter where he went, was offensive. What if he did something Anilith could hold against Maze to punish her again? Keeping his head down, staying quiet, that was how he could help Maze.

Fraq and the others came to his door over and over again, and he continued turning them away. And then an ashfall passed without them throwing things and calling for him, two, three, and Lucifer resigned himself to not even having them calling him names to look forward to each ashfall. So he waited alone in between Maze's visits.

"Lucifer," he heard Maze call from outside. She stomped her feet to dislodge the ash from her boots and brushed off as much as she could from her cloak before coming in.

With a roll of his shoulders he disappeared his wings. It was easier to move around in the small space without them getting in the way.

She'd never come home at the beginning of an ashfall before. He hurried to light the hearth fire and tossed several moss bundles on it before she had worked the door flap open. He didn't tell her how little he used when she wasn't with him. He didn't have any right to complain. If not for him they wouldn't have been forced to move. If not for the weakness of spirit that caused his nightmares he could be in the secure barracks with Maze, so he built the fire up and cast off the blanket and cloak. She surveyed the dome, giving him only a cursory glance as he nearly tripped in an attempt to clean the mess he'd made of trying to craft with the small leather scraps around him before focusing on their provisions.

"I picked up everything we needed at the market," he explained as she sorted through the baskets.

"You had enough coin?"

"Yes."

She grunted and emptied her pouch of a new batch of crafting she'd done at the wall that he could use for trade, and poked through the scraps Lucifer had been working on. None of his work went into the trade worthy pile; he hadn't expected them to.

"It's cold in here." She checked the hearth moss basket and found it over half full.

Lucifer looked away. Not talking about it was the norm between them now.

Maze plucked the dead flesh from the hook on the wall and skewered it on an iron bar to heat over the flame of the hearth as she sat on the bedroll beside him.

He got up to prepare a flask of alcohol to share, and when he turned back to her, he caught her staring at his back. She looked away.

Even banished, his wings were a problem. The spot where he'd pulled out the primary to give to Anilith was taking a long time to grow back. It was a physical reminder of the moment he betrayed Maze and caused her punishment, and he was careful to hide his wings since the first time he noticed Maze staring at the ugly spine slowly growing in its place.

While she was away, his mind raced with all the things he wanted to talk to her about. He missed her presence, he missed the companionship. But when she was with him, there was only awkward silence.

"You're doing fine on your own?" she asked as she finished eating. She drank from the flask he offered her and handed it back.

Lucifer took a long drink. He savored the burn. He saved the alcohol for her visits, too. "I am," he assured her.

"Good." She stood up and put her cloak back on. "I need to get back to my duties at the wall."

She was leaving already? But she only just got there.

"Should I pick up more dead flesh for you at the market?" Lucifer asked. He didn't know what more he could do to coax her to stay.

"Bring home what you want," Maze grumbled, and she secured the round bowl-like helmet on her head that marked her as one of the wall-guards.

_She prefers the company of her own kind over an abomination like you. How did she stand being near you for so long? How did she force herself to couple with a beast?_ Lucifer drank the rest of the alcohol trying to drown the voice out.

When he woke the next ashfall, his head ached and his stomach soured, but he took the trade and went back to the market for more dead flesh and alcohol.

"Not interested." Rillam grumbled. What would he do if Rillam refused to trade with him? Had he offended her?

"Why not?" The thought of going to Maze and telling her he couldn't handle the market made his stomach turn.

Rillam smirked.

Oh. The vendor wanted to see his burned skin again? He released the glamor over and let his true form emerge. He pushed the bag of craft to the vendor. "Better?"

But she shook her head. Her grin widened and she looked pointedly at the shelter behind her table where a hide protected her wares from the ash. "I want more than just a glimpse of your face."

"And then you'll trade with me?" He followed her behind the screen. As soon as they were out of view, she grasped his hand and pushed at his body covering, exposing more of the skin of his arm.

"I'll take if off if you agree to pay a fair price for those wares. Deal?"

She hissed in a breath and nodded.

He tossed his cloak onto a basket of goods, and unpinned the chiton beneath.

She reached forward and trailed her fingers along his scarred chest but he caught her wrist and pulled her hand away."You want to touch me?" he asked, and she made a rumbling sound in her throat. "That will cost more." He was getting the hang of this game.

"I will pay double if you stay half a finger of ash."

He had plenty of time. He shucked the rest of his garments off, and tossed them into a pile near the door. "Agreed."

He stood in place and allowed her hands to roam over his body for the agreed upon time. When it had passed, he replaced his clothes and she passed him a small pile of coins. The exchange was so unlike the last time he'd been touched in this form.

She caressed his arm again as she said, "Don't bother with the crafts next time."

He bought the things he knew Maze preferred, and had enough to buy a few candles for himself. He hoped next time Maze would stay to sleep, but the winds rose and she didn't come at all. Lucifer's memories haunted him with vindictive pettiness. The rustling of the door flap morphed into the sound of the whip snapping at Maze's back. The darkness and silence took him back to the dungeon where time slipped away and his body grew cold and numb.

_There are worse things than being forgotten in the dark._

The voice was right. He remembered the fiery lake. Agony searing away all sense of self.

_That was the punishment Father intended. To burn for an eternity._

Lucifer woke to a cold and dark dome. He patted the other side of the bed he and Maze shared. Cold. Just as he knew it would be. Ridiculous of him to check.

_She's avoiding you. You're the reason she won't come home._

He struck the igniting stones until a spark caught in the bundle of moss. He blew on it, nurtured it into a meager flame. He only needed enough to stir his porridge and flavor his water. He'd grown used to the cold and dark by now.

He missed Maze.

When she was near, it was easier to brush off the memories. The memory of his sibling's voices, accusing, renouncing, words in a language he doubted he would ever hear again. The shame of failure pressed in all around him.

Was she really this busy at the wall, or was she avoiding coming home to him? If she came back he could make it up to her.

_You caused this. You have no right to demand explanations._


	21. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion: 5 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**5/21**

* * *

The dead flesh he brought home for her began to smell worse and decay. When she returned, he wanted to show he made an effort. That he wanted to make things right.

Now he knew he could contribute to the upkeep of the dome on his own merits, and a tiny flame of pride flickered in him. Rillam had promised him double. He could purchase food and have enough left over for another blanket with that much, and so he dressed in easy to remove clothing, and marched to the marketplace.

The green haired Lilim reacted as soon as he entered the square, sweeping her wares into baskets. By the time he'd wended his way through the crowd, she had her stall shut tight. Lucifer walked toward the privacy of the screen she'd taken him behind before, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

Lucifer hesitated. "I thought this is what you wanted?"

"You want more coin, don't you? We can make more."

He didn't understand. "You said to bring no trade."

She pressed against him, and whispered in his ear, "_You_ are the trade. Follow me if you want to earn more coin."

"I won't follow you to another place. If you want sex, we can do it in there."

"This isn't some pop-up orgy. It's like the Commons, but for throwbacks. Have you never seen the dome with the _tantalizing_ carvings near Tyndale's shop? You want to earn regular coin, yes?"

"Of course."

"Then you need more customers than just me."

He glanced toward the Commons. "They won't accept non-Lilim."

"The Commons is for warriors. Throwbacks are more open minded. They enjoy...unique bodies." She pressed against him. "And you possess the most unique body we've ever seen."

"I say who touches me."

She frowned in confusion. "What other way is there?"

He swallowed hard. _What indeed_. But he wouldn't return home without supplies. He was done with burdening Maze.

Rillam snaked her hand under his clothes and raked her fingernails up his back. The touch tingled through his body and _want_ spread in its wake. Maze hadn't touched him like that since the first wind in the barracks. He brushed Rillam's hair away from her scaly face and pressed his lips to hers. Her long, forked tongue prodded at his lips, and he opened his mouth to her, reveling in the sensations she drew forth. They stood groping and tasting one another as a small crowd formed.

Rillam grinned as she pulled away. "You want some, you pay," she called out to the crowd, and proudly led him away. It was just another exchange of goods.

It made sense. He could satisfy his want for sensation, and be valued. Unlike the time he was manipulated and left behind with the trash, this time he knew the terms. This time, he'd be in control.

She took him to the large dome where elaborate standing columns and carvings guarded the entrance. He recognised this place. Fraq had pointed it out on his first attempt to reach the market so many, many hands of ash ago. Sexual appendages wrapped around the column, intertwined representations of all shapes and sizes. Some were thick, others more tongue like, or with strange scales and suckers adorning their shafts. They curved around a multitude of breasts and disappeared into folds of layered flesh.

"You like what you see?" Rillam asked with a smirk.

He wanted more than to look at these wonders carved in stone. "Are these real?"

She laughed. "Welcome to Leviathan's Pit. Let's get you inside."

The more he explored the collective, the more he understood how they grouped themselves. All Lilim possessed certain monstrous features, but it was the least monstrous of them that were favored in the Spire and dealt their wares in the market. These were the throwbacks, as rejected as him in many ways.

This place was filled with Lilim with the most interesting characteristics. Fur, horns, tentacles, and things he didn't even know how to classify were prominent features of them all.

He laughed out loud. Oh, how glorious.

Several Lilim paired off in couples or groups on one side of the room, and on the other, low tables and lounging mats surrounded two vendors, one selling cooked flesh and the other alcohol. This place had an air of permanence about it, and the groups and couples trading pleasure, paying him no attention whatsoever, settled his mind. The memory of being used and discarded faded away. This was going to be _fantastic_.

The vendor paid a coin to the large Lilim looming just inside the door, and led Lucifer to an empty patch of bedding. She began removing her clothes and he shrugged out of his.

"Change."

His own skin, raw, red, burned and pitted as it was, would just be another monster in a room of monsters.

The form came easier each time he revealed it. His choice. The pain and horror—unwanted reminders of the fiery lake—gnawed at him, but he pushed that down. He stood before her, nude, red and scarred and she purred low in her throat, reaching for him with lust in her eyes. Her touch went straight to his groin and he groaned at the pressure, gripping her arms and dragging her tight against him. He kissed her again. When she bit into his neck, his knees buckled. She shoved him onto his back and mounted him. Her hands wrapped around his wrists, pushing his arms out to the sides, holding him in place as he writhed beneath her. She panted as her movements sped up, and she released his hands to touch herself as she ground against him. He cupped her breasts, squeezing and kneading.

He felt pressure building inside, so close, but she stopped, moaning loudly, clenching around him. It wasn't enough to send him over the edge to his own climax. She slid off him and stood up, smirking as she looked down at him. Addressing the room she called out, "Any takers?"

A large male with coarse pebbly skin, jutting lower teeth, and long clawed fingers stepped up and jingled his purse. Rillam held out her hand, accepted payment, and stepped away.

The rough-skinned male didn't speak, only tilted his head. Lucifer nodded, ready and waiting. The Lilim's claws scratched Lucifer's hips, exactly how he wanted and needed, and his climax made his whole body tingle with pleasure. The male withdrew and Lucifer flopped onto his side satiated and pleasantly exhausted.

He was unaware of much of anything until a hand rested on his shoulder. "Up you get, angel."

Rillam crouched beside him, gripped his arm and pulled him up into a sitting position. She passed him his chiton, and leggings, and gave him time to get dressed.

"More will want a taste after that, but not this ashfall, let them wait and their interest will grow stronger. Come back, and there will be plenty of coin for you to make here. Come, let's return you to the market. You came looking for more than just a fun time, yes?"

She gave him the coins she'd agreed to pay him and half of what the male had handed her. More than enough to buy everything he needed. Lucifer returned home with a full basket of hearth moss and a heavy blanket. His next meal would be a feast, his porridge so thick that it would have to be scooped like back in Maze's dome. His stomach growled in anticipation, but he put his purchases away and went to the bathing dome to wash himself and the clothes he'd not bothered to clean lately. He lined his eyes with kohl for the first time since they'd been forced to move, and he looked at himself in the mirror with pride.

The bargain paid off. Maze returned before the winds rose, and she ate the fresh dead flesh he'd brought home. It was well worth the small smile as she brushed her fingers along his cheek. He'd missed this, and leaned in, eager to be with her again, to taste her again. They laid together through windrise, and Lucifer took advantage every moment. Like old times.

"Come home more often," Lucifer whispered to her.

She slept at his side. Maze returned to the dome earlier for a hand of ashfalls after, and he kept up the effort to make the dome and himself perfect. She answered him when he spoke; sat with him by the fire, and he dared to hope they were over their rough patch.

_Maybe things could go back to the way they were_.

But the knowledge that he still had her trophy pouch hidden among his items gnawed at him. Perhaps now he could give it back to her.

"Maze, in the chamber with Anilith when you gave her your Talisman Pouch—"

"We will not speak of that, Lucifer."

"But—"

"I'm going to sleep now."

When she woke, he attempted to tell her he wouldn't speak of it again, but she hushed him before the words left his tongue. She left as soon as the winds calmed.

Her pouch remained tucked safely away in the purple jellydisc jar.

_Why haven't you told her you have her pouch yet?_

He didn't know. Talking didn't work, but he could put it into her hands with no words. Every time he thought about returning it like that he felt so cold inside that his limbs froze. The pouch was a reminder of his failure at the spire. He ate lukewarm porridge and drank tepid tea and lay back on the bedding.

Maze didn't return. He needed more supplies; the dead flesh had begun to rot.

He waited; she'd be back. She always came back. He resolved not to mention the pouch again. If all it did was drive her away, he'd keep it a secret forever.

_Why are you waiting? She doesn't want to be with you._

He didn't want to be alone anymore. Thinking about the Leviathan's Pit sent shivers of anticipation down his spine. The longing for more body sensations drew him. He wouldn't be alone there. They wanted him; he yearned to be wanted.

When the winds stopped blowing, Lucifer took a few of his remaining coins and walked back to the Pit. He paid the guard to let him in. Even though it was early, the dome was filled. Everyone stopped to stare, and he momentarily doubted his choice to come here without Rillam to mediate for him. Let them stare. He stripped his clothes and sat on the same bed he'd occupied before.

Several Lilim went back to their interrupted pleasure. None made offers. With a heavy sigh, he called forth his other skin. A smattering of exclamations sounded from around the dome and three Lilim approached in a group. The first male outsized Lucifer, and his penis was long, thin, and seemed to move independently of his gait. The second was covered in soft, fluffy, brown and black striped fur, and even better his wide penis had multiple heads. The female had yellow scaly skin and the pupils of her purple eyes were vertical slits. They offered him coin and he readily accepted, eager for these new experiences.

Over the next hand of ashfalls he learned more tricks and techniques than he'd ever imagined possible, and the more adventurous he became in designing new ways to draw pleasure from those who sought him out, the more eager they were to reciprocate.

Lucifer thrust into the body underneath him, the Lilim loudly sharing her enthusiasm for his performance with the rest of the patrons of the Pit. This one hadn't wanted his ruined skin, she wanted his angelic visage, and he'd been more than willing to deliver. These Lilim, who were nearly as unappealing to others in the collective as he was, weren't all seeking something even more corrupt than themselves. Some wanted to be desired by perfect symmetry. Whatever they wanted, if he could provide it, he did.

And for that he was valued.

Lucifer wanted to be desired in whatever way they would have him. He craved the pleasure derived from bodies intertwined, but most of all, he craved companionship, however fleeting. Alone meant listening to voices that were not his shouting in his mind in a language he longed to forget. It meant existing without purpose in a world he wasn't designed for. It meant accepting that he'd lost Maze through his own failures.

In the Pit there was no one to lose. There were always more willing to take their places. With his talents, he drew forth passionate reactions, played on the bodies of those he possessed with ease, and he cherished the control they gave him.

In a very short amount of time, those in the pit accepted him as one of their own.

The scent of hair-moss wafted through the air. He and Maze had been so happy the first time they shared the drug. He approached the group that smoked it, and he nodded to the one holding the burning moss. Her silver horns sparkled in the firelight. "How much to join?"

"Three coins." Her forked tongue poked out between pointy teeth as she spoke.

Too much. She waited with an open expression. He knew her, knew what made her scream her pleasure for all to hear. She came to him again and again, and he knew she wasn't hostile to him. This was the game from the marketplace, the one the vendors refused to play with him. But this place was different. It was worth a try. "One coin."

She grinned, her teeth bared in the fashion of an amused Lilim. "Two."

He gave her the coins and found space in their circle. A bundle of smoldering moss was passed his way and he placed it to his lips, drew it into his lungs and held it there. A sense of calm and ease washed over him, body and mind. He reclined on the floor cushions and listened to the story the silver-horned female told. The wart-covered male beside him rubbed against his side, and Lucifer rubbed back, welcoming the attention. The story ended, as most stories did, with the humiliation of her enemies. Lucifer laughed along with the others.

By the time he'd dragged the last of the smoke from his bundle into his lungs, the silver-horned story teller spread herself over him, and he gladly accepted the invitation.

She stroked her hand through his hair and he kissed her wrist, moving up her arm until reaching her neck and finding a spot just under the horny protrusions on her head that brought forth moans from her lips. He used his skills to make her hips writhe and her breath quicken. He satisfied her, and reached out, needy and wanting as another took her place. It was good. He belonged.

And after, he collected his clothes and the coins he traded for and staggered back to the dome.

The next time he entered the Leviathan's Pit, he joined the group with the hair-moss again. He reached for his purse, but the silver-horned female waved his hand away and gave him an already burning twist, eager for his company.

Several ashfalls later, Maze returned at windrise. They reached the dome at the same time and she wrinkled her nose after she sniffed him.

He lit a small fire, then had to add more to it when Maze approached with her dead flesh.

"Are you short on hearth moss?"

"No," he said, nodding with pride to the full basket in the storage shelf.

"And you're not keeping the fire going for warmth?"

"I use what I need." He heated his water and added the amount of powdered fungus he'd grown accustomed to.

She gnawed on the dead flesh for a while, her eyes scanning the room critically. "Is that all you're going to eat?" She asked

Why did she question him so closely _now_? He looked at the bowl and sloshed the contents. It was twice what he had been eating before he began trading at the Pit. "It's enough."

She looked skeptical, but said, "I heard you frequent the Leviathan's Pit."

He nodded, sitting straighter from the pride he felt in satisfying his partners' desires. "Have you been there?" Maybe she would want to go with him? He could show her the skills he learned.

"Not my kind of place."

Right. He'd forgotten the beast-like Lilim there were shunned by warriors with status.

"That's where you want to be?" She asked.

"I'm very good at what I do there," he said, pride strengthening his resolve. It didn't matter if Maze approved or not.

Maze didn't stay long and he hadn't expected her to.

_Your presence is poison. Maze is better off without you here._

And what the inner voice said felt true.

He longed for the hair-moss, and it became routine to join the circle of smokers when he entered the Pit, coupling with them for fun and companionship, and when he needed supplies, there were always plenty who were willing to pay for his skills.

And it was good.


	22. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion: 6 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**6/21**

* * *

He leaned back, content, the large body underneath him rocking slowly, and Rillam in front, straddling.

"You like it here?" Rillam lisped as she nipped his ear and ground against him.

The male beneath growled and moved and Lucifer moaned his pleasure for all to hear. Grian wasn't the best coupling partner, but what the curly horned Lilim lacked in skill, he made up for in enthusiasm. The throwback's desire, held so very deeply, was for all to know he drew these sounds from Lucifer's coveted body.

Lucifer did not hold back his appreciation, and sandwiched between the two, he didn't have to pretend.

"You like earning coin, yes?" Rillam said in his ear.

Did she have to talk _now_? "Yes!"

Rillam sped up the shifting of her hips, pushing him toward his climax. So close…and she stilled, grinning at him. He grunted at her, captive as he was to her attention.

She started moving again, slowly, and licked at the place she'd bitten earlier. "Did you know that wall guards can bribe their way off the wall?"

Lucifer grabbed her hips, held her still. "No."

"They can, but you'll never earn enough coin from this place. They don't have it."

Grian snarled behind Lucifer. "Leave him be. Mazikeen will never bribe her way off the wall. The Soverain put her there, and there she'll stay 'til the Soverain chooses otherwise."

Rillam pushed Lucifer's hands off her hips and stood, stepping over and away. "This place, _The Leviathan's Pit_...throwbacks will never understand ambition. If you know what you want, you take it. Don't let anyone tell you that you can't."

Grian growled as she departed, and wrapped his arms around Lucifer's chest. He shifted them onto their sides where he could better move. "You may not be Lilim, but you're one of us." He thrust harder making Lucifer moan again. "We take care of our own, even if we're not flush with coin."

A chorus of agreements went up from the rest of the hair-moss group. They kept him too entertained to contemplate Rillam's words until it neared wind-rise. He'd spent the last few winds at the Pit already, it was time to stop in at the dome, sweep out the ash, keep the beetles out. He strolled the lanes heading home, and his coin purse was heavier than it had ever been. This quarter was so different than where he and Maze used to live. The domes were as dilapidated as the section near the wall for the guards. The Lilim he greeted were thin and wore ragged clothing, but they never spat at his feet when he walked past.

The coins weighed on him. He plucked at the chiton he wore; the common clothes he wore everyday were just as ragged as the throwbacks he was mingling with. The things that Maze and Izuden had picked out for him were far beyond what anyone here could scrape together. Rillam's words rang truer every step.

If what Rillam said about bribes was true, he'd never find that kind of coin here. Grian's words held truth, too. How could Maze bribe herself away when the Soverain ordered her into the post? The one thing that was certain; he'd never find out if he remained too poor to try.

Maze was in the dome when he arrived. The dome was well lit and warm and she had food cooking.

"Maze!"

"The winds are already high. Why were you out in it?"

Already off to a bad start. He shook out his scarf but held it up for her to see he'd been using it. "I was covered." He checked the tie on the door flap again and tugged it tighter. It never fit quite right. He sat near Maze, but she wrinkled her nose at his odor as he pulled off his chiton. He tossed it in the far corner to wipe down later. Why hadn't he walked a bit faster and bathed? He knew she hated to smell the Pit on him. The least he could do was give her some space, so as an excuse to move, he got up and poured a couple of flasks of alcohol from the storage shelf.

When he sat down, he put the fire between them. Maze accepted the alcohol and handed him a bowl of porridge in return. It was thick and lumpy and he smiled at the reminder of all the meals she'd fed him in the past. "How"—he cleared his throat—"how long will you be assigned to stand on the wall?"

"For as long as it takes," she growled.

"How long is that?"

"As long as Anilith wants me there." She grimaced and spat into the hearth.

He opened his mouth to ask what that meant, but she cut him off.

"Go to sleep, Lucifer."

It was a dismissal. He got up instead and did what needed to be done. He wiped off his chiton, swept the ash out of the corners that had collected there in the last couple of winds. All the normal things he did to keep the dome in order.

Maze ignored him. The silence between them stretched. Normally, when he was alone in the dome he'd take the opportunity to release his wings, stretch out. But there wasn't room for it with another present. And the way Maze looked away whenever his wings were present only served to remind him of his failure to her in the Spire. Better to keep them hidden. To spare her the scent of the Pit on his skin, he wrapped himself in his blanket and let Maze have the bedroll. It wasn't her fault he stank.

"Sleep well," she said, voice low, as she lay down on the bedroll.

"You, too." He didn't say more, not wanting to risk driving her away for an even longer period of time.

When he woke, she stood by the door flap, armor and helmet on, waiting for the winds to calm. He sighed and rolled tighter in the blanket. Things would never be okay between them as long as she had to stand guard duty. If Rillam knew a place he could earn more coin, how could he not take her up on it? The door flap opened and closed, and Lucifer drifted back to sleep.

He assumed Maze forgot something when the door flap shook and the ties were pulled outward to be undone. Who else would it be? He'd never seen another Lilim enter someone else's dome without permission, and so he stayed rolled up like a cocoon in his blanket and thought nothing of it.

"How the mighty have fallen."

He sat up and tossed the cover off. "Rillam?"

"I bet warrior Mazikeen never thought she'd end up in a place like this."

The green-skinned Lilim removed her cloak and plunked herself down on his blanket beside him. She leaned in close, inhaling the scent of his skin, and grinned. "Wanted to talk. Without those throwbacks around to interrupt."

He rolled his eyes. "_Those throwbacks?_ Aren't you one of them?"

She hissed and let a low grumble sound in her throat. "Borderline. My stall is in the market. It is an advantage to sell my wares to whoever I want."

Lucifer stood up and sniffed the chiton before pulling it on.

"Did you think about the coin?"

He glanced her way. "I could make enough to get Maze away from wall duty?"

"You won't stand a chance at the Leviathan's Pit."

Sadly, what she said rang true. "What do you have in mind?" It was just as well she was here; at least he didn't have to seek her out.

"A new place. Better place." She joined him across the room and reached into his clothing basket, pulling out his best pieces and thrust them at him. "Get dressed and come with me."

He pulled on the tunic and leggings. But he wasn't finished. He picked up the kohl to outline his eyes. Rillam snatched it from his fingers.

"Let me?" she asked.

He sat still for her, as he did for Maze…or used to do for Maze. Rillam studied her handiwork after and then smudged her thumb under his eye, drawing it outward, and grinned. "Not bad."

Lucifer scoffed. Not bad? He knew he looked good. But he hesitated before following her out the door. He liked the Pit. He didn't know what kind of place Rillam wanted to bring him to now.

"You coming?"

He tied the door flaps in place. Rillam had led him to the Pit. She knew what she was doing. If she thought this place would make him enough coin to make things better for Maze, he had to try.

They left throwback district, heading toward the spire. Lucifer didn't look up as they passed the tower and into an area of multi-domed long-houses decorated in shells and carved bones. She brought him to a very large dome that had carved bone plaques built into the wall. He expected to be led past this area, but to his surprise, Lania took him right up to one of the multi-dome complexes. The carvings showed Lilim hunting four legged beasts far larger than themselves. Instead of a door flap, this structure had a solid shell-plate door.

Inside, the dome was divided in half. One of the first he'd seen with inner dividing walls. A homey hearth and wall shelves occupied one end of the open area in front of the door. Dead flesh roasted over it and a pot of fragrant tea simmered near-by. Lilim lounged on cushions, some of them simply lying alone with vacant smiles on their faces. Others coupled in groups of twos or threes. A haze of hair-moss hung in the air. It reminded him a great deal of the feel of the Pit, and that settled the nagging doubt that he shouldn't be here. A familiar smell tickled his memory underneath everything else. Old sandals, clothes that had been left wet and not allowed to dry correctly, perhaps.

A solid door blocked the partition.

"What's in there?" Lucifer asked Rillam.

She wrapped around him, and nipped at his neck. "Private rooms. You'll find out soon enough if Lania takes a liking to you."

_Lania?_

And there she was. He _knew_ her. This female, darker toned like Maze, her face perfect and symmetrical. Her clothing only covered the front of her body, showing off the shimmering blue scales on her back.

A mix of confusing emotions soared through him. Disgust. Betrayal. This was the Lilim who led him from the commons. She'd promised so much, and he'd been left with the trash.

Rillam was a fool. He'd never be accepted here. Lania had manipulated him, broken down his glamour, made him expose his wings against his will. If Rillam expected him to pass some kind of test with Lania, he knew from experience he'd already failed.

"Lucifer!" Lania smiled, showing off her fangs. Before he could turn and walk out, she caught his arm, the sharpened claw of her index finger coming to rest on the soft skin of his inner wrist. "I am pleased to see you again."

He frowned. _She treated him like trash. Manipulated_—

Her gaze traveled his frame, "I wasn't sure we'd meet again. What _did_ you tell your handler about our last encounter? Did you not enjoy our time together? You seemed to be having such a _good_ time."

Yes, it had been good...at first.

"Did your handler Mazikeen tell you she visited us after? I admit, I hadn't known at the time how upset she would be at us for using her property without permission. Does she know you're here now?"

He frowned. "No, Maze doesn't control—"

"Poor thing. I never meant to get you in trouble." Lania continued, pulling him along to sit on a plush cushion. She poured hot tea into a small clay bowl and passed it to him. "We never meant to be too rough on you. I thought you liked it."

"I did," he said. Didn't he? So much of it was a blur. "You left me there."

"To sleep," she smiled. "I sent a messenger for your handler to come get you. She found you, didn't she?"

He remembered waking up. Had they really…

"How's the tea?" Lania asked.

Lucifer took a sip, there was a tinge of fermentation in it. Next, she placed a small disc that smelled sweet in his hand. He tentatively bit off the end. Oh, that was good.

"I love your outfit. You look so Lilim," she stroked the soft leather. "I hope you won't get into trouble with your handler for being here."

"I go where I choose," Lucifer insisted. "There won't be any trouble."

Lania poured more tea into his little clay bowl. "I heard about Mazikeen's troubles. It's a shame to waste a warrior in such a low position."

Rillam smiled and hissed lightly with her forked tongue extended as she interjected. "Coins. This is a good place for making coins."

"Oh?" Lania asked. "Are you short on coins?"

Lucifer looked from one to the other and nearly laughed. Did they really think they were fooling anyone? That he wouldn't catch onto their ruse? Rillam hadn't brought him here without purpose. Lania wasn't surprised to see him. They were plotting something.

"He's a favorite at the throwback pit," Rillam continued.

Lanai let out a brief snort. "This is not a pit for _throwbacks_."

He'd had enough. He wasn't about to be manipulated again. He glanced around the room. "And this certainly isn't as interesting or as varied as the Leviathan's Pit. I can't see anything here that will hold my interest."

Lania only smiled. "I always expected there was more to you than the rumors said. Rillam tells me you've developed quite the talent to please, and I promise you, there is a lot more here to hold your interest than you're aware."

He ate the disc and washed it down with more tea. The fermentation seeped into his limbs, easing his worry. "How so?"

Lania grinned. "Care for a tour?" She glanced at the partitioned area off to the side.

"Why not?" It wasn't like he had anything else to do. And this wasn't like before. He had experience now. He knew what the transaction was.

Or he thought he knew. Rillam gladly took over his clay bowl as Lania took his hand and escorted him to the other area.

The room she led him to was dark. "Candle," he said, and resisted all her advances until a small lantern was lit. There were fur rugs, cushions. Shelves of strange and various items, oddly many of them looked like weapons.

Lania walked around him, stalking. "Bring out your wings for me angel," she whispered.

He laughed. Not a chance. "No. I'll have to be enough, as I am."

She hummed. "You think you _can_ be enough?"

"Is that a challenge?"


	23. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion: 7 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**7/21**

* * *

Lucifer used all his skill to satisfy Lania, and then she turned the tables on him using a delightful harness to bring him to the same heights of pleasure. She introduced a switch and taught him the joys carefully controlled blows could add. He looked forward to adding it to his skill set. Even if nothing else came from the encounter, Lucifer was content that he'd be leaving here with an entirely enjoyable experience. Afterward, he lay on the rug panting, and Lania lay at his side, her claws lightly trailing over his lower belly.

"Well."

"Well."

They looked at each other. Lania smiled. "Was that interesting enough for you?"

He grinned back. "Mmm. How'd you like my talent?"

Lania laughed out loud. "Oh yes. I think you'll fit in quite nicely here."

He stayed the rest of ashfall, and Lania invited him to sleep with her over wind. It wasn't like he had anything to go home to. There were two males who spent the majority of their time preparing tea and meals, when they weren't lounging in a daze on the cushions. They didn't try to sneak flesh into Lucifer's stew, and whatever it was left his mouth watering for more. Lania invited him to share her own bedroll, and he did. It was the best sleep he'd had in hands of ash-falls.

And when he woke, Lania was there, ready to introduce him to new experiences. Those weapons he saw on the shelves in the private room, apparently weren't weapons at all. Each had multiple uses, and Lania helped him explore them all.

After reducing Lania to a writhing happy mess the third time, she tugged him down to lay beside her. "If I can get my legs to work," she said, stroking Lucifer's back slowly. "I have a special gift for you."

"Not thistles," he warned.

Lania laughed. "This is so much better than thistles."

She brought him back out to the common area and told him to get comfortable on one of the cushions. She came back with a small jar. "You're going to like this." She settled down beside him, licked her finger and dipped it into a powdery substance. She dabbed the powder on his lip.

He licked his lips. Whatever it was tasted sweet. For a moment that was all it was, and he wondered what was so special… Then his lips and his tongue started to tingle. The rest of it hit quickly after that. He had the sensation of his body lifting up, floating, and he nearly panicked and reached down to grab hold of the cushion beneath him as an anchor.

Lania laughed. "Relax. Close your eyes."

She brushed the back of her hand across his cheek, and the feel of her fingers against his skin set loose a cacophony of reactions through his body. Too much. "Let it take you," she continued to soothe.

Lucifer held onto her, as the room seemed to spin around him. She eased his head back against the cushion, stroked his hair. _Let it take you._

He felt better as he relaxed. The floating wasn't so much alarming as it was familiar. It was flying. He knew it was all an illusion, but he could feel the memory of flight. It felt real. He stretched out his arms soaring on the air currents. Racing among the stars.

Lania laughed beside him and her finger brushed his lips again, he opened his mouth this time, licked the rest of the powder off her skin. The sensations within him magnified. It was amazing. He could spend forever like this, but slowly the world returned around him.

He lay, loose and comfortable in the aftermath, as Lania wove herself around him.

"What is this?"

"This is the other reason Lilim come here. It's called lethe. Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes."

He returned to his dome that ashfall. There were washing facilities at Lania's Den, far superior than the communal hut by the wall the guards used, but he needed to get fresh clothing. He needed to restock Maze's supplies.

The market was slowing down by the time he passed. Rillam's stall was closed, reducing his options. Nothing brought him back to reality faster than the disdainful looks the vendors at the outer stalls gave him, the way they spat into the ash as he stepped up to their carts. He ordered the flesh and the fungus jars, and the vendors quickly passed him the wares and rushed him away.

"Take your beast stench with you," the male jeered, and snickers from those nearby who heard joined in.

He took his items and moved on. The wind rose up more quickly than usual, and he pulled up his scarf, walked faster. He paused at a division in the lane, left or right? He knew this area, why was it difficult to concentrate? He took left, walked to the end. No, that wasn't the way. He turned and went right instead. The lanes emptied as the wind blew harder. He could barely see through the blowing ash by the time he reached his dome. And even then he had to pause and fumble with the door ties to get in.

Finally. He pushed his market items inside and crawled in, trying to hold back the coughing until getting the knots back in place as well as he could, and only then succumbed to the burning in his chest. The dome was dark and he bent double as he struggled to draw breath in as he worked to expel the ash he'd breathed.

The dome was cold. That was nothing new. He was well practiced at fumbling in the dark for the candles, and he left his cloak on as he threw some moss on the hearth to light a fire. Maze hadn't been back since her last visit. The thin coating of ash was undisturbed on their items. He worked at putting the provisions he bought away. Swept the corners.

He could have stayed over in Lania's Den again. Why didn't he? The off chance Maze would come home? She probably preferred it when he wasn't here anyway.

He stayed only as long as the wind kept him confined indoors, and at the first hint of ash, collected what he needed and went back to Lania. His mood lifted considerably when Lania greeted him with another offer of lethe, and everything that troubled him was swept away as he relaxed and let the drug ease his mind.

Many Lilim came and went from this place. They found partners, and some enjoyed themselves in the common area, some retreated to the private rooms to partake in the more creative tools to be found there.

"Wen?" Lucifer sat up when he saw Fraq's former pack-mate. But the whelp looked away and hurried on without acknowledging him. Lucifer assumed Wen was like so many others and considered consorting with a beast beneath his dignity. So be it. Lucifer wouldn't bother him again. His former companion followed another Lilim into a private area off limits to the rest of the patrons of Lania's Den. When he asked what that space was for, he was told was that it belonged to a powerful Lilim who provided this space for Lania, and to mind his own business if he knew what was good for him.

There were enough who craved new experiences that Lucifer wasn't alone for long. The patrons of Lania's Den learned that if they wanted a unique experience, Lucifer was the one to see. Every Lilim he accompanied into the private room came out with stories of how the angel beast used the tools in a way they never expected. None of them were ever disappointed.

There was a camaraderie he missed from the Leviathan's Pit. The patrons of Lania's Den were not friends; they were customers at a market seeking a service. It was a service Lucifer was wholly dedicated to providing, but there were no conversations or friendly moments of mutual satisfaction. Even the others, like Lucifer, who were there to collect coins rather than spend them, were uninterested in companionship.

There were some, the thralls, Lania called them, who came only to bargain for more lethe. A different caliber of Lilim came to Lania's Den to partake in what those were offering. The thralls often emerged from the private rooms bruised and bloodied, but when they settled in on the lethe cushions, their pain and need was washed away just as thoroughly as anyone else's.

Lucifer found the lethe to be a perfect way to begin the ashfall and forget the dinginess of his dome, and the loneliness of waiting for Maze, and even better at fortifying himself for what he was going back to. Nothing. The lethe made stopping at the market bearable, how could he be insulted by random Lilim spitting at his feet and mumbling about beasts under their breath when he was still riding the euphoria of soaring above them in his mind?

It took a moment when he arrived home to the dome to register the light creeping out from under the door flap. An intruder? What kind of intruder would light the hearth and stick around after?

He loosened the knots and stepped inside. Maze? She sat by the fire, lounging on the bedroll and messing with a leatherwork project he'd done hands of ashfalls ago. She had his work spread out around her.

"Maze!" He quickly tied the door flap closed and joined her at the hearth. Still elevated by the lethe he'd had before leaving Lania's, he brushed off the underlying tension between them.

"Where do you keep your new pieces?"

He didn't follow. Oh, the leather work. "There are no new pieces. Maze—"

"You stopped practicing?"

"Why would I waste my time on that?" All he ever did was waste leather that could be put to better use elsewhere. Nothing he did was worth anything, why else would she keep tossing it in the not-worthy-to-sell pile?

"You think leather working is a waste of time?"

He missed the tone that should have warned him. He tried to cover up his confusion with a laugh. "My efforts are obviously better spent on other things." There were so many new things he'd learned that he wanted to share with her. He rose up on his knees and leaned in, kissing her collarbone.

She pushed him away and he landed back on his butt. "Maze?"

"Am I a joke to you?"

He blinked. Where did that come from? "What?"

She swept his leather works to the side like the trash they were. "Nothing." She gestured at his basket from the market. "Have I been _wasting enough time_ on leatherworking to keep our provisions stocked?"

It was hard to keep up with her train of thought, but he nodded. "Yes," he traded what she provided at the market, and he had a stockpile of coins that he'd built up from the trade he made with his own talents at Lania's Den.

"How does a wall-guard stop being a wall-guard?" he asked.

Maze glared. "This again?"

He refused to back down. "If I could—"

"Enough, Lucifer. You've done _enoug_h. This is a Lilim matter and doesn't involve you. Don't interfere."

He shut his mouth. She was right. He only made things worse when he tried to help. The memory of the lashes striking her back hit him yet again and he turned away.

"I'll take care of things," Maze said quietly. She made an effort to pile the leather works he'd made into a pile before standing up. The winds hadn't risen yet. Rather than wait any longer and risk being stuck in the dome with him, she pulled on her cloak and left.

Lucifer lay down on the bedroll. Alone.

He couldn't bear his own thoughts by the time ash-fall came and he went straight to Lania's Den. The dose of lethe he took when he arrived helped to settle the turmoil within, but only for a short time. He found himself asking Lania for an extra dose to quiet the voices screaming at him from within.

"You're no good to me laying here addled on the cushion," Lania scolded.

Lania was right. He could try explaining his plan to Maze again. If Maze understood, she'd accept his help to bribe her way off the wall, wouldn't she? And then things could go back to the way they were before. They'd be good together again. Everything would be fine. It was only the one extra dose he needed to get by, just this once.

_He was fine._


	24. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion 8 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**8/21**

* * *

Lania tapped Lucifer's shoulder as he lounged on the cushions. "You have someone waiting for you, Lucifer."

He hadn't seen anyone come in. Lilim seeking him out knew where to find him. "Who's waiting?" he asked and stretched, taking his time to get up. His last hit of lethe had only been half a finger of ash ago and his head still felt wonderfully light.

"Private room. You were requested." Lania hauled him to his feet.

Lania's expressions were difficult to read, but right now she seemed even more closed off than usual. Lucifer squinted at her and grinned, hoping to dispel her mood. "Someone new? Someone…important?" he teased, watching her reactions carefully. Her mouth thinned and he laughed out loud. "Oooh, someone important, is it?"

"I never said that. Just go."

He leaned in and gave a nip to Lania's neck as he passed. It was always fun discovering someone new, finding their preferences and testing their limits. He casually walked into the private room, confident in his ability.

There was no one there. He sighed. A trick of some kind?

But something stirred off to the side, a presence. He spun to face it but his eyes wouldn't focus. "Hello?"

It didn't respond. It was like a blacker spot in a shadow. The sense of _something_, but he had to blink and turn his head away from the absence of it. Could it be the lethe still in his system? No. Lethe didn't do this.

He recognised this. Power. He tensed, ready to fight.

The voice, when it finally spoke, was just as disconcerting. "Drop your glamour."

A stab of pain went through his head. No. He'd been manipulated before. Not again! He had power too, and there was no way—

_Beast._

That wasn't his own voice. It didn't originate from within. The non-form, the shadow, surrounded him. He felt it brush against his skin and he felt a response rise within, a wanting.

No. This wasn't his own will, and yet he couldn't dislodge it. The weakness this place imposed on him made it impossible to block. The power forcing its way into his mind wound itself around his fears. The darkness pressed in around him. All sound beyond the room was silenced. He was alone and trapped, his memories made a prison of the past.

But it wasn't real. The part of him still fighting for control knew this was an attack against him and he fought all the harder to free himself from it.

A pain like no other took over. His wings! He needed to hide his wings. But he couldn't because they were already hidden. But they were also there, forced into extension, held down, metal pincers grasped the spine at the base, squeezed, and pulled.

Blood flowed from the wound left behind, and Lucifer shuddered.

But there was no blood, and no one held him in extension, and his wings were safe and hidden.

He lay on the floor, shivering. He didn't know where he was. And he was alone again, alone for so long without food or water.

_Drink._

Thirst and need surged through him as the shadow brushed against him again. It pressed against his lips and stole his breath. They had left him. Left him to die of thirst and hunger.

A flask lay on the floor beside him. The first object he'd been able to focus on clearly since entering the room.

Take it.

He stretched, afraid he would grasp at nothing, but the waterskin was real. Desperate, he pried open the clasp and tipped the container. And he drank. The liquid inside wasn't water. It was sweet. The taste of lethe filled his senses.

_All of it._

All of it.

The waterskin slipped from his numb fingers and clattered onto the floor. The room spun, tilted sideways.

Chill grew within him, encompassing everything. Numbness took over, creeping over his skin, erasing all feeling, all connection to his sense of self. He didn't even feel the ground. He'd never touched the ground. He was high above, flowing on the wind, falling. The shadow enveloped him, and his mind was defenceless as it entered him. Consumed him. And all he knew was the shadow. It was all he'd ever known.

"Lucifer?"

Everything hurt. His body felt covered in needles, and a massive knife sliced through his eyes and into his skull.

Something shook him. The light from a candle across the room burned his eyes, set everything on fire.

He felt a flask pressed against his lips, choked on whatever liquid was forced into his mouth. The hand shook him again and he tried to curl away from it. The routine continued until he opened his eyes again.

"Lania?"

The Lilim sighed and sat back. "You gave us a scare."

With help he sat up.

"We found you passed out."

Passed out? A sense of horror washed over him and he backed away from Lania. She told him to enter that room, the room where… Where what? He remembered darkness and pain. Thirst. His wings. He'd been held down, a pincer was used to remove his feather. He stumbled to his feet and drew forth his wings, fearful of what he'd find. How many feathers did they take?

Lania stepped back. Everyone stepped back.

Everything was as it should be. No feathers were missing. Even the one he'd removed on his own was there, a spine, but it was there.

But if he had all his feathers, then what had happened in the room? What else was he remembering that wasn't real? He shrugged his shoulders, pulling his wings back in, hiding them out of existence.

Lania reached out her hand. "Should I summon your handler?"

Maze? His knees felt weak and he sat down. Why did his head hurt so much? "No. Don't send anyone for Maze."

A blanket was tossed over his shoulders. Lania knelt in front of him again. "Come join us. Rest by the hearth." She wrapped her arm around his back. "Would you like some more lethe? To help settle your mind?"

That sounded good. He let her guide him to the oversized cushions and he lay back. Her finger brushed against his lips and he licked off the fine sweet powder, and was grateful for the release it offered.

As soon as the unsteadiness in his limbs eased, Lucifer left the Den and headed back to Maze's dome. There were too many blank areas in his head. What happened in that room? The nightmare images of his ordeal in the Spire stuck with him. He made it home just as the winds picked up. He lit the hearth to dispel the darkness and collapsed onto his bedroll.

Every time he closed his eyes, his mind traveled back to the Spire. He barely slept, and yet time slipped around him. Each time he reached sleep, he found himself back _there_. Each time he opened his eyes, his body screamed at him.

He stared into the fire. Why had he wanted to go back to the dome? He should have stayed at Lania's Den. At least there he wasn't alone, and with companionship came distraction. Long before the winds died down he readied himself to return to Lania's Den.

Lania met him as he entered her establishment and looked him over with a critical eye, declared him a mess, and pulled him aside. "No one is going to want you like this." She stroked his hair and passed him a soft cloak to wear instead of his old chiton.

"You look tired." She used her kohl, rubbing her thumb generously beneath his eyes to darken the already bruised and tired look. "It is better to look like a fashion choice."

He was ready, and looked forward to the sensual promises another ashfall of coupling would bring.

How could he have gotten it so wrong? His first partner was someone he knew well, a vendor from the market. In the market, in the sight of other Lilim, this vendor spat at Lucifer's feet as he passed, refused to trade with him. But here, Lucifer dominated. He knew how to bring forth the gasps and cries of pleasure from the vendor's lips, and he did it well.

The vendor was eager, but Lucifer felt none of the excitement the coupling normally brought forth. At the back of his mind lurked darker scenes. The Spire was taking over his thoughts again. He couldn't enjoy the way the vendor's hands gripped his wrists if it reminded him of being bound and suspended by his wings as he struggled and—

He needed more lethe. The lethe would clear his mind. Then he'd be able to focus.

The first encounter of the day left the private room calling for Lania. Lucifer's hands shook as he cleaned and put away the tools of his trade. The spike-through-his-brain headache had returned in full force and his stomach roiled. He couldn't do it. He'd sent the vendor away after the first few touches, and he wasn't surprised when she stalked through the door.

"You just cost me coin, Lucifer."

"I just need a little more lethe. I couldn't focus. It didn't feel like it should."

"That's not how this works. I don't lose coin here."

"Another dose, and I'll be fine."

"You'll owe me." Lania warned. But she gave him the lethe. He lay sprawled out on the cushions beside the thrall users until he felt at peace again. He discovered, so long as he fortified himself with a hit of lethe before coupling, he could keep the memories at bay and enjoy himself properly.

He stayed the wind. Lania supplied him with a ceramic bowl he could dip into as needed. All of it was adding to his debt, but if the lethe could help him sleep, then he wouldn't need as much the next ashfall.

But when the next ashfall came, he needed more. It was too soon. The images from his memories still lurked on the edges of his consciousness. He couldn't go into the private room with someone with those thoughts in his head. He didn't dare risk it.

"How much credit do you expect me to extend you?"

"I have coin, but I won't need it. Just one more and I'll be fine."

"There won't be another one today. And there won't be lethe without coin. I want what I'm owed upfront from now on."

"I need it. I can't—I don't want—to be alone."

"It's coin or thrall work. Or no lethe."

Coin it would be. He had a pile saved for Maze already. If he dipped into that, just enough to get over whatever this was, he'd be fine.

But all that didn't help him now. The coins he had stashed were back in the dome, across the collective. And he needed more lethe, now.

The thrall workers groaned and turned away when the next female Lilim entered the Den. He recognised her, but he'd never coupled with her before. She was stingy, only choosing thralls who demanded little in the way of coin, and even they didn't want to couple with her. Those who did came out of the private rooms with welts and bruises.

If they didn't want her… An encounter with her would be enough to cover another dose of lethe. He wasn't doing thrall work. It wasn't like that. It was just this once. He'd take her, he'd let her do what she wanted, and that would be it. With more lethe, he'd be able to get back to coupling properly with the Lilim he _wanted_ to be with.

"I'll take her," Lucifer said.

The thralls looked surprised, but none of them protested. Relief was their dominant reaction.

Lania watched from the distance, but didn't interfere.

"I'm not paying extra." The lilim female warned.

Lucifer shrugged. "I'm not asking you to," he answered and offered a teasing smirk to cover up the unease he felt inside. His skin crawled at the thought of touching her, but it was just this once. He'd endured much worse at the hands of the Spire. He could do this.

And so he took her hand and led her to the back.

There had been no mutual satisfaction in this encounter. Lucifer lay face down on the floor, his arms and legs still strapped down to hold him immobile, but he couldn't work up the mental energy to care. Even the Spire memories couldn't penetrate the mental and physical exhaustion she'd driven him to. He rested his forehead on the floor. He didn't know how she derived pleasure from what she did to him. It was anger and violence, the switch used to punish, not excite. She wore the strap-on harness as an object of domination, to violate, rather than stimulate. And then she left him there.

It was Lania who entered the room next. She released the restraints, eased him onto his side, and looked down at him. "I should put this towards covering the debt you already owe."

"No, I—"

"I'll give you your dose; don't get worked up. But I want my coin first thing next ashfall. No more handouts."

He nodded and picked himself up off the floor. He wanted to wash. But lethe first, then he'd wash. And then he'd make his way back to the dome and count out enough coin to settle his debts with Lania. It would cut into what he'd saved to help bribe Maze off the wall, but it was just this once. He'd build it up again. This was only a temporary set back.

For once, he was glad Maze was away when he got back to the dome. He counted up his saved coins. What Lania wanted was going to put a dent in his plans, but he was sure he could make up for it quick enough. He wished he'd thought to ask Lania to pack some lethe for him to last the wind.

His sleep was disturbed numerous times by darkness and terror. Memories of the Spire mixed in with Lania's Den. It wasn't the dungeon where he was bound in his dream; it was the private room. And he wasn't alone. The Lilim female he'd been with was there, and he heard her laughter leak into the shadows even after waking up in a cold sweat.

The lethe would fix things. He grabbed a couple more coins from his stash before going, just to make sure he'd have enough.

It helped. Lania was generous with her doses, and so long as he timed his encounters right, he enjoyed himself the way he should with the partners he chose to couple with. He didn't even owe Lania when the winds started picking up and he asked for a bit extra to take back to his dome with him. Of course, he wasn't taking any coin back with him either, but the next ashfall would be better. He was sure of it.

Each ashfall he told himself the same thing. He'd start collecting more coins than he spent soon. But each wind that came he seemed to fall short again.

He started sitting with the thralls more often. In one of his more lucid periods he wondered that he'd never seen Wen again. Maybe he'd not liked the taste of this place. The thralls didn't seem to mind sharing their partners with him when the need to make a little bit more came up, and he didn't suspect anything was amiss when Lania told him to meet someone in the private room. It wasn't like he'd been paying attention to who came and went from the premises. Not like he used to. But then, he never used to spend so much time enjoying the effects of the lethe before.

As soon as he entered the room, he recognised the presence around him. He turned to leave, but the door was already shut. This wasn't real. He knew it wasn't real, but here it was. The power around him slithered into his mind before he could mount a defence against it.

_You are mine._

His heart sped up at the unexpected sound so close to his face.

He looked up, and blinked. The body above him seemed to float, but he couldn't focus. It was shadow and form, with no clear features other than flecks of gold. He stared and stared, but it was like looking through smoke.

No. He closed his eyes, concentrated against the fog in his mind, but everything remained blurry. The presence already had a hold of him. He felt the bindings wrap around his body. It wasn't real. The divine cord held him in its power and he was helpless against it. Time warped and he was back there again, in the dungeons. Bound so tight he could barely breathe. No one came back. And he couldn't move. He was alone, and cold, and not-dead, but not alive either. Trapped in the dark, alone.

_What will you give?_

The voice filled his mind. He would do anything to be set free. Give anything.

_Be honored. A beast like you does not deserve my attention._

The shadow moved around him, and he found it possible to move again. There was nowhere to go, or escape to. It was in his mind, it possessed him.

_Drink._

His mouth felt dry as he picked up the waterskin. Lethe water. He drank it willingly, knowing it would be enough to take him under, to make him helpless. But helpless and unaware was better than the alternative. He drank it all. Everything became dim, and his body felt numb.

He didn't know how long the shadowy Lilim possessed him. Time fell away to mean nothing until the presence disappeared and he lay alone on the cold floor. Lania came. She led him out into the common area, and found a mat for him to sleep on.

When he woke he felt dazed, and sore all over. A sense of dread and revulsion overwhelmed him, he didn't want to be here any longer. Despite the pounding in his head, he found his clothes, and put them on. Lania tried to coax him to stay, to join the pile of sleeping Lilim near the hearth, even offering him more lethe, but he pulled away and staggered out into the lanes.

How he found his way back to his dome was a mystery and he couldn't remember the journey after arriving. He stumbled through the door, fumbled to tie the flap closed and collapsed on his bed roll. For the first time in a long time, his mind was quiet in its exhausted drugged fog.

And the silence was good.


	25. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion 9 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**9/21 **

* * *

Maze held her stick of meat over the barracks' hearth, listening to the flesh sizzle. The Lilim around her grumbled. Every day followed the same routine. Wake, eat a breakfast of nearly rotting, low-grade meat. If there was time, a round of dice would get played. After shift they brawled. If the fight was stimulating, they had sex. It wasn't a bad routine. The camaraderie she found since she'd moved Lucifer out to the dome reminded her of her days spent with hunting parties so long ago.

The guard work never changed. Maze took the outermost post. It was a position normally reserved for the least experienced of warriors, but she didn't complain. It was a test, as these things always were. Anilith wanted to humiliate her. The Soverain could try. Mazikeen wasn't going to take the bait. There was no humiliation in fulfilling a duty, and she wasn't going to insult her fellow wall-guards by insinuating their work was beneath her.

At first she'd been wary of spies from the Spire reporting back to Anilith. She'd hurried Lucifer along, dragging him out on the wall with her as soon as the winds died down and staying until the last moment when they picked up. She'd been a fool to think she mattered enough for the Soverain to spare more than a cursory check, and looking back, there were many things she wished she'd done differently.

It had been too hard on Lucifer. He wasn't used to the ash the same way Lilim were, but she'd been unwilling to leave him alone so soon after Anilith's stunt with the tribute. The Soverain could have had plans, and Mazikeen hadn't been willing to take the risk. But exposing Lucifer to so much ash held its own pitfalls. Even wearing a scarf, the cough he developed sounded too close to ash-lung.

It didn't matter where they were, though—on the wall or in the barracks—he refused to look at her. He barely spoke to her. She had to order him into the sleeping bunk each night, and once in, he did his best to not touch her. Of course he resented her; she'd lost his trust. She failed to protect him from Anilith's manipulations. She couldn't even protect him from the sleep-wandering terrors. It was no small wonder that he wanted as little to do with her as possible.

And then there were the other wall-guards. Mazikeen had to give them credit for trying. But Lucifer stubbornly refused to bite back to their overtures of fellowship. Lucifer's standoffish attitude had only made them try harder and harder to show him they were willing to accept him.

Removing Lucifer to a dome outside the barracks had been for his own good. The sleep wandering had never been a problem in a dome, and he was out of the ash. Every sleep she spent alone in her bunk, she missed him. Every mentor has a hard time letting the whelp they've trained go alone into battle. Lucifer wasn't a whelp, but similarly, every time she visited the dome, it hit her all over again that Lucifer didn't need her anymore.

At least she had her vow to fall back on. No matter how self-sufficient Lucifer was, she was still responsible for him in the eyes of the Spire, and that excused the visits she made to check up on him. Not that he was ever there. The last few times she'd stopped by, the hearth had been cold. How long had it been since she'd actually seen him? Two hands of ashfalls? Three? A few ashfalls had become the norm between, but it had never stretched this long before. She shouldn't leave him alone so often, but everything was so much simpler in the barracks.

Every ashfall of guard duty was an exercise in monotony. She had her leather crafting, and it did allow her to focus on the work, but this enforced idleness was a slow death. Collective life dulled Lilim. They weren't meant to live confined within walls. If the guard-chief wasn't willing to be bribed with finished pieces to keep supplying the raw materials she needed to craft, she'd lose her mind. Work adorned with decorative details were the easiest to trade, and she tried not to resent painstakingly working a battle scene into a belt that would never be worn by a warrior.

When she finished, she placed the belt into the back compartment of her pack. The guard-chief got the bulk of what she made, but she saved the best pieces for Lucifer. She clenched her fists. She should spend more time in the dilapidated little dome with him. She wanted to be with him, but being around him made her insides ache. She looked at the dome and saw failure and a reason to despair. Much the same as what Lucifer must see when he looked at her.

Lucifer had made the dome his own, despite its dilapidated state. He swept and dusted and cleaned better than she had in her dome. They'd left behind most of the comforts, but Lucifer had cleverly built it back up. He did as good as any Lilim male could be expected. Better, considering he wasn't even Lilim.

What did it say about her, when even her guard-mate, Grian, saw more of Lucifer than she did? He'd told her all about it hands of ashfalls ago before he'd been transferred to another barracks.

"_There's this thing he does with his thumb and his finger that-"_

"_Will you shut the fuck up about fucking Lucifer?" she growled, again._

"_You should hear the things he's told me about you!" Grian grinned and then let out a surprised squeak as Mazikeen jumped on top of him._

As a partner Grian didn't have a lot of skill, but at least he'd stopped talking for as long as she kept him occupied. It burned to think _Grian_ had that connection to Lucifer now that she'd lost it. But, thanks to Grian, she knew Lucifer still frequented The Leviathan's Pit—and he earned coin for his talents there. The coin to be had at the Pit would never amount to much—only throwbacks were allowed to frequent the place—but the loyalty they showed to any they deemed acceptable eased her worry.

So, when she went to the dome and Lucifer wasn't there, she knew there was no cause for alarm, even with this long gap.

It felt wrong. All of it. Maze clenched her fists. She didn't want to stay away. It didn't have to be like this, did it? Maybe there was a way to fix it? To fix them. She missed his company. She missed the way things had been before.

And so, she planned for her next free ashfall. She'd let her vow to Anilith interfere with her duty to Lucifer for too long. She was responsible for him, was she not? Whether he liked it or not, she had an obligation to take care of him. It was a good excuse.

Mazikeen rushed to Lucifer's dome after her last shift before her free ashfall.

She was going to fix this. This awkwardness between them didn't have to continue. Even if he wasn't there, she could do some repairs, wait for him to return. Show him she wasn't backing off.

The door flap hung loose. That wasn't right. Had someone trespassed on their dome? Maze pulled it back slowly, cautious, and entered with her knife in hand.

But what greeted her was very different than what she'd been expecting. Lucifer lay sprawled on the floor near the bedroll, his body uncovered. Maze crouched at his side, checking for injuries. There were scratches and welts on his skin and small bruises scattered over his body, including around his throat. His skin was cool to the touch.

"Lucifer?"

He didn't stir, and her heart started racing. The only other time she'd felt his skin so cool had been when she claimed him from under the Spire. Dread filled her. What happened? Was he sick? Seriously injured? She rolled him over and placed her hand on his chest, feeling for a heart beat. There it was, steady and strong. Some of the tension within her released.

But then what had happened to him?

The hearth was cold. There was no warmth, not even in the ashes. How long had it been out? The moss basket for the fire was nearly empty, but she grabbed a handful and sparked a flame. Perhaps that would help warm him up.

She shook his shoulder. "Lucifer?" No response. She tapped his face and he moaned, his eyes fluttering open.

"Maze?"

"Did someone attack you?"

He frowned a moment before looking down at his chest. "No."

She grabbed a blanket and tossed it over him, but he made a face and pulled it off.

"You need to warm up," she said, pushing the blanket at him again, but he batted her arm away as he sat up.

"It's too coarse," he complained. His voice was rough.

"A cloak then," and she pulled off her own to drape over him, but he shivered and pushed that off as well.

"Maze, no, I'm fine."

"Fine?" She looked around the dome. She'd been too preoccupied with checking on him to really take it in before now. "You left the door flap untied. There's ash everywhere. The hearth was cold."

"So?"

"This isn't like you, Lucifer."

"You're never here anymore. How would you know?"

She paused. He took pride in his dome. "You despise when there's ash in our dome."

He shrugged, sitting before the hearth as the heat of the fire warmed the dome. He kept shivering, but refused to wrap in anything. "I'm tired. I'll sort it out later."

Even the pot had ash and dried porridge in it. The residue was caked in as though it had been left like that for a long time. Did he have any provisions? She got up and checked their supplies. There was a beetle in the ooze fungus jar. And the meat hanging on the wall was far past being edible. "When's the last time you went to the market?"

"I've been eating elsewhere."

"The Leviathan's Pit isn't your home."

He frowned, looked ready to correct her for a moment, and then sighed. "This isn't either."

Mazikeen tensed. "This is my dome, and you belong here with me."

He stiffened, his shoulders drawing together, and for a moment she hoped it meant he'd bite back like he used to, but instead he drew in a breath and released the tension without facing her. Besides the bruises and scratches and lost weight, he was pale. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his curls were lank and unwashed.

He needed food, and there wasn't time to arrange to go to the market and get something better. She wiped the cooking pot as best as she could, rinsed it and poured fresh water from her flask and set it over the fire to boil. There was enough mixed fungus left in various jars for a couple of meals, she dumped everything together in the boiling water.

Lucifer stirred the water until it grew thick. She set down a couple of bowls and poured out two portions. They sat in silence, eating together. He picked at the food, only eating half his portion before pushing it away.

"You need to eat more."

He rubbed his stomach and eyed the food warily. "I'm full, Maze." He yawned and shifted to lay down again. What was that smell?

She checked outside, the wind hadn't risen yet. She gathered up bathing supplies. "Up you get, Lucifer."

He looked from her to the supplies and sighed dramatically, but stood up. "A bath?"

"You reek of wet sandals."

He met her gaze at last and she thought he would argue, but his chin dropped and he acquiesced without a word. She'd been backing off when he reacted like this, but obviously that tactic had failed. He threw on some loose clothing, not bothering with ties or clasps. Even his sandals were sloppy, and she knew by now he was as good at tying them as anyone. "Come with me."

She opened the door flap and held it until he walked through. He stood waiting, still shivering, but fell in a step behind her. At the bathing dome, he took off the few clothes he wore and stepped into the tub.

Mazikeen diverted the hot water from nearer the source of the spring into the basin he sat in. The shivering slowed, he sighed, and his eyes drifted closed.

"How long has it been since you bathed?"

"Don't remember," he murmured.

She picked up a pitcher and dunked it in the hot water, poured it slowly over his hair. She rubbed his scalp with soap, getting the ash out, letting the curls in his hair twist around her fingers. The soap came next, she rubbed it onto the sponge and stroked it over his skin.

He tensed, breath catching as fine lines appeared around his mouth.

She stopped, and regarded him closely. She caught his jaw in her hand and raised his chin. "Open your eyes and look at me."

He did, blinking slowly.

She hadn't forgotten to light a candle. Why was he having trouble steadying his eyes? "What did they give you?"

"Everything I asked for," he said tiredly.

She ran a finger over one of the deeper scratches on his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut, both squirming to get away and stimulated by it all at once. She removed her hand and rubbed his arm instead. "Tell me who did this and I'll—"

"Maze… no."

She wanted to hurt those who hurt him, why would he object? Didn't he trust her to defend him? It took effort to bite back the harsh response on the tip of her tongue. She picked up the sponge again, and continued scrubbing him but with a softer touch. The trick was to get him to talk, bring back some normalcy between them. Then, perhaps, she could get him to tell her who she needed to remind that she was still Mazikeen. "Tell me about the Pit, Lucifer."

He smiled to think of it. "The vendor took me the first time…" he started, and Maze listened. He told her all about the vendor, and about the many Lilim who wanted him. How much he enjoyed being there, the interesting features like fangs and tentacles. Oh, the things they could do with tentacles.

She listened to it all as he told her everything, though much of what he said was jumbled, the pieces not fitting together perfectly. His tone changed to something closer to the terrible night-wanderings he'd had before. "There's a shadow," he said. "I can't get away."

He was becoming nonsensical, but at least he wasn't shivering anymore. The water was gray with ash residue, but he didn't smell of smoke and sweat anymore.

"Up, come on. Let's get back." She dragged him up and he swayed on his feet. She didn't bother with the chiton and belt, just wrapped a cloak around him and quickly tied the sandals to his feet. He made no protest at being coddled. This reminded her of when she'd first taken care of him after claiming him from the Spire, and she hoped, too, that it reminded him he could trust her. She'd take care of him if he let her.

It wasn't far to get back to the dome. The fire in the hearth was still strong. The air was warm. She undressed him and helped him lay on his bedroll beside the fire. He closed his eyes and went to sleep immediately.

Maze lay down beside him and stroked his hair. She wasn't sure yet what she was going to do with him, but she had no doubt she was going to have to do something.

Lucifer slept through the entire wind cycle and well into the next ashfall. Maze worked on making an inventory of the provisions they'd need. Of repairs that needed to be done to the dome to keep it habitable. She didn't like how the ash blew in under the door flap, nor the draft coming from a crack in the roof. Lucifer should have mentioned the dome needed repairs. Didn't he even trust her to maintain the upkeep?

It wouldn't be the best breakfast, but she scrounged up what she could from the remaining fungus jars to make a meal. Except the purple jellydiscs. Why did they even have that? Neither of them liked it.

"Lucifer," she shook him until he stirred. "I want you to eat now."

He sat up sluggishly, yawned, and held out his hand for the bowl. Good start. They ate together in silence, and she set aside the bowls after.

"Show me your wings, Lucifer."

He looked up at her in surprise for a moment, face hardening into grim lines. But he did as she asked. He stood up and rolled his shoulders, and his wings emerged from what seemed to be nowhere. The dome was small, so he kept them flexed close to his back.

Maze sighed. The brilliant white had dulled to gray. The feathers looked…clumpy, and the spot where he'd extracted the large feather to give Anilith was still only a spine. It had barely grown at all since the last time she'd seen it. She remembered how mangled his wings and feathers had been when she first met him, and then how much worse they were after Anilth was done with him.

She reached out and trailed a hand along the feathers. "They're not doing well."

He frowned and shrugged his shoulders to hide them away. "I'm fine." There was anger in his voice.

"You're not fine. Why can't you see that?"

He stared at her, his eyes growing dark before they turned red. "And you know what's best for me, is that it?"

She snorted. "I'm responsible for taking care of you."

"I can take care of myself. I'm not helpless."

She gestured around the dome. "Really? Does this look capable to you?"

"What do you care?"

"It's my duty. You're mine to safeguard."

"I haven't forgotten," he responded, voice tight.

"Then let me take care of you." Didn't he see that she wanted to help him? That he could still trust her, despite her failure to protect him at the Spire.

"I don't want you here because it's your duty. I don't need a _handler_."

_Handler?_ That's all he thought of her as? Blood rushed in her ears, her vision became narrow. She grabbed his wrist and spun him around to face her. "You think I treat you like I'm your handler? I could, if that's what you want."

"And do what? Are you going to lock me in _your_ dome so I can't leave?" His voice rose in volume, in anger. "Are you going to bind me so I can't escape?"

"I should." She tightened her grasp on his wrist.

Flames licked his body, turning his skin scarred and pitted. She didn't let go. They stared each other down, neither willing to be the first to look away.

They could have stayed like that for much longer, but Lucifer's skin changed again, smoothing out, fitting back into the glamour. Mazikeen released him.

He stood his ground, facing her head on. No more looking down or controlling his voice. This was the fire in him Maze had longed for. But she needed to take back control first. He was hers, and she wasn't going to let anyone take him from her, not even him. "No more going to the Pit."

He glared.

"You're to stay here. I'll go to the market and replenish our supplies."

"No."

Maze clenched her jaw. "No?"

He nodded. "No. I'm not going to be your prisoner."

"I've never treated you like a prisoner."

"What's this then?"

"Look around you. Look at yourself. I'm doing my job."

He had the audacity to look smug as he said, "As my handler."

"You stubborn slug drizzle." The anger within her felt so overwhelming she was surprised she wasn't shaking. "After everything I've done for you… Do as I say, Lucifer."

"I won't." He over-enunciated it, emphasizing the way he knew annoyed her from the months he'd spent around the whelps. His skin remained smooth but his eyes were bright red.

She stood up and went to her belongings, reaching deep into her bag. If he thought she treated him like a handler would, then why shouldn't she? Apparently nothing they'd gone through together meant _anything_ to him. So what was stopping her?

At the bottom was the binding cord. She could feel the power emanating from it. She could tie one end around his wrist, the other secure to the dome. Lucifer would have no choice but to remain. The cord's magic would work against him, hold him for as long as she wanted it to.

She looked back at him watching her.

And she let go of the cord.

"This is wrong, Lucifer," she sighed and turned around. This had already escalated out of control. She needed to stop before she did something she couldn't undo.

He turned away from her.

Mazikeen reached for Lucifer's shoulder, but pulled her hand back before touching him. Anger flooded through her. Anger at him, at Anilith, at herself, she wanted to shake him until everything was back to the way it used to be. But force had never solved anything with Lucifer, and that was all she had in her right now. Leaving was the best thing she could do for both of them.

Maybe he was right. She needed to back off, give him some space. She knew he had friends at the Leviathan's Pit. Maybe he'd turn to one of them for help.

"I don't know how to fix this. I'm not sure it can be fixed," she muttered to herself and ducked through the dome. She tied the flap securely and stalked away.

Several of the guards greeted her when she returned. Quizzical looks were exchanged, but no words said. Everyone knew it was better to gossip and speculate in secret than to ask questions in the open. She strode directly to the resident commons. A group of five lilim guards sat around betting on a dice game. She growled low in her throat and they turned to her. A grim smile parted her lips and she bared her teeth. They grinned back, standing up, ready.

This was what she needed. At her first blow to her fellow wall guard landed and he staggered back, spitting blood and laughing, she finally felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders.

She'd figure things out. She could go back after this, find out what Lucifer needed, fix it.

And yet she didn't. Even after the bloody fight, and joining in after for another round of dice, she was no closer to knowing what to do than she had been before.


	26. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion 10 of 20

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**10/21**

* * *

_This is wrong Lucifer. I don't know how to fix it._

Her words echoed through his head. There was no escaping them. They were inside him. His body ached and his head hurt. He needed more lethe, but thinking about Lania's Den made his stomach threaten to rebel. He couldn't remember what happened, but he _hurt_ and his wings shivered in his psyche. Maze's request… _Cold. Dark. Gold._

He woke on the floor. Shivering. Curled in on himself with his arms wrapped tight around his chest. Light from the ash cloud filtered through the crack in the roof and the ill-fitting door flap. He was in the dome. He was in the dome. He grabbed a candle and lit it, though his hands shook so much that he dropped the candle again and again.

_This is wrong Lucifer. I don't know how to fix it._

The headache spiked with the light and he covered his eyes. The voice taunted him relentlessly. Why did he say those things to Maze? He accused her of keeping him prisoner and being his _handler_. He knew she hated that. _Ash._ The ash inside bothered her. If he cleaned and fixed the problems. Bought the dead flesh that she liked, then he could make it up to her.

He cleaned up the dome. He even fixed the door flap so ash wouldn't blow in so badly. The dome looked as it should now. As she expected it to.

_It's not the dome she thinks is broken._

When he opened the coin jar he'd last been filling, only a handful remained. Had he spent it all on lethe? How? His goal was to help Maze. Fix his mistake, and he took it without thinking. The rest? Had he spent it, too? The other jars he'd hidden in the back corner. He dug them out, tossing baskets to the floor and shoving jars across the shelf. One. Two. Three. Still full. He slid down the wall shaking. The room looked worse than it had before he cleaned. He failed at everything. Ruined everything he touched.

The market supplies still had to be bought. He took the remaining coin from the jar he'd wasted and braved the brightness to go to the market. The noise and light amplified every bad sensation in his body. By the time he staggered back to the dome, the need for lethe to ease the physical pain and quiet the voices was overwhelming, but he needed to wait for Maze. Needed to show her that he didn't believe those things he'd said.

She didn't return before windrise.

Why would she?

_You're wrong, Lucifer. I don't want to fix it._

Was that what she said? It was what she meant, wasn't it? He shivered and pressed his hands over his ears, but these voices weren't external. There was no blocking them out. The only thing that stopped them was the lethe. He needed it.

_At least you've found one thing you're good at._

It didn't matter. It didn't matter what he fixed. It didn't matter how he tried to follow the rules. He'd failed. Failed in his Father's court. Failed in the Spire. Failed to gather coin. Failed in doing the simplest things Maze had asked of him.

And she left.

_She won't come back because she can't stand to be around you anymore. You took everything from her. Traded for what? Nothing._

He needed to go back to the Lania's Den. Lethe allowed his thoughts to go quiet when nothing else worked.

_This is what you deserve. You were meant to be discarded. To burn. You poison everything._

He was alone in the dome with his memories and voices. The winds calmed and Lucifer lay on the floor, unable to escape the torment if he tried. His limbs refused his commands, and he was too wracked with pain to do more than breathe. Every breath that expanded his ribs hurt, as if his bones cracked and broke with each inhale. His heartbeat, thudding wildly in his chest like a hammer, reverberated through his entire body, and the voices and images relentlessly assaulted his mind. His failures, the torments of the Spire, and the fall paraded before him on an endless repeat, merging together into a riotous nonsensical mass in his mind.

_He burned. Flames melting away his body as Maze's voice told him: You're wrong, Lucifer. I don't want to fix it._

She was done with him. It was what he deserved.

_He couldn't breathe. Gold flecks in the darkness. Golden eyes and laughter. You called her your handler. How could you do that?_

It wouldn't stop. His skin rippled as red and pale chased each other and he tried to hold on. She wasn't coming back. Why would she? After everything he'd done and said it was no wonder she couldn't stand to sleep in the same dome.

_You're wrong, Lucifer. I don't want to fix it._

The pain eased enough that he could move again. What right did he have to stay? He'd taken her freedom and her dignity. He couldn't give those back, but he could give her dome back. He could be like the other thralls at Lania's Den, take the drug until he lost himself completely.

He put on his chiton and pinned it at the shoulder, cinched a piece of scrap leather around it and put on his sandals. He stopped just inside the door. Her talisman pouch. He couldn't leave with it hidden away behind the provisions.

_Why didn't you give it back long ago?_

"She didn't want to talk about it!" he shouted at the voice.

_You kept trying though, didn't you? Kept hurting her._

_Why don't you ever listen?_

The small jar was hidden within his basket, he pulled it out and wiped the grime of ash off the top of it. He knelt on the bedroll. It seemed so long ago that Maze had sat beside the fire in the grand dome that she deserved and spread the contents of her pouch to tell him the stories that were inside. She'd told him of her loyal warg companion. She'd looked at the fang with such reverence…

He rolled his shoulders and his wings unfurled with a soft rustle. If he moved them gently enough, they wouldn't shed ash. He bent his left wing forward and searched through the small, downy feathers. He chose carefully. His wings needed to be cleaned and groomed, but he found one that still gleamed white with divinity. It pulled free with far less effort than the primary. He banished his wings and wiped the drop of blood from the shaft.

He didn't touch the contents of the pouch when he opened it. He didn't have the right to disturb her prizes. The feather drifted softly inside to take its place among her treasured items. The coin jars tempted him. How much more lethe could he buy with that? But no. He'd earned that coin for Maze. What was left was less than he'd had, but it still might help her. It wouldn't help him. The Den would consume it as surely as it had the first jar. He placed the talisman pouch with the jars in front of his basket. Maze would see it.

He wouldn't be returning.

Perhaps someday she could think of him as fondly as she did the warg.

_You are an idiot to think she'll care after everything you've done._

He walked the lanes without full awareness, one thought on his mind, focused on the place he needed to go. He wanted to forget everything. Forget he'd ever existed. He wanted to silence the voices that assailed him in the quiet of the dome. Sink into oblivion instead of fire when he slept. Vaguely he remembered being stopped by the other Lilim, the slender ones. Fraq and the others tried to distract him. To turn him away from where he wanted to go.

_Someone is doing bad things to you. I've already lost one friend to lethe, I don't want to lose another._

He pushed Fraq away and stumbled, and when he got back on his feet, there was no one around. Had she been there at all?

Had he really seen them? On more than one occasion he thought he saw Fraq out of the corner of his eye, but everything felt confused and out of focus. Maybe he hadn't seen her at all.

At the door of the Den, Lania greeted him and led him inside. "You're a pathetic sight. Do you have coin?"

Lucifer shook his head, the movement sending spikes through his head again. He stumbled, and she held him upright.

"I suppose I'll have to give you a little or you'll be worth nothing." She drew him close to the hearth and made him sit on the cushions with the thralls. A couple of the more aware ones greeted him. Lania returned. The promise of getting lost in a drugged haze came with her and he licked at the powder on her finger. It felt good. It always felt good, but it wasn't enough. He wanted to forget. To lose himself completely he needed more.

His suffering eased enough that he stopped trembling and the pain receded. Lania gave him food and drink and ensured that he consumed them.

"I like you, Lucifer, so I'll take care of you this one ashfall. Get a bath and then I'll send you something easy to earn your keep."

The coupling was pleasant, took place in the main room, and only required that he lay pliant for the patrons. After, Lania settled him by the hearth and gave him enough lethe that he floated away, the voices gloriously silent.

Time felt disconnected as he lay with the thralls. That was all he was now, wasn't it?

When Lania crouched by his side, he didn't bother making the effort of looking at her. "This isn't what I wanted for you," she whispered. "She's coming back. I'll turn away, no one will stop you if you leave. Lucifer." She placed a hand on his arm. "Do you hear me?"

He didn't answer. She stood, and walked away.

_She._ Lania meant the shadow. Disgust and shame rippled through him. _He'd let her…and he could still feel her worming her way into his mind._ It was his own fault. He hadn't fought hard enough. _He'd let her._

He stayed where he was. Lania returned. She kicked at his leg. "That's it then?" She crouched down again. He opened his mouth when she stroked his lips, gave him more of the precious lethe.

His gaze did turn to her then. Lucifer hadn't asked for another dose, but he was thankful for it. It cleared his head and eased the ache in his limbs. Lania looked down on him. "Time to go." Yes. He could already feel the presence of the one with power near-by.

Lucifer got up on his own and Lania held his arm to help steady him. He walked on his own to the private room, fully aware of what would be waiting inside. But there would also be the lethe-water and that drove him forward. He longed for the oblivion it offered.

He entered the room and closed the door behind him.

Though the attack was expected, the suddenness of it hit him, stealing his breath. He jolted against the intrusion on his mind, desperate for air. This time he offered no resistance. How many times had she come for him now? Memories bound him, wrapped him tight. He let it. The less he fought, the sooner it would be over with. His limbs felt heavy, too lethargic to even gasp in air when she eased the pressure.

_Drink._

The flask was there, and he reached for it. He didn't need to be told to drink it all. The lethe felt cool and sweet on his tongue, comforting as it spread through his body.

He saw things that he thought were there, but couldn't be. A flash of light, his sister who had fought at his side, who he hadn't seen since their defeat. He'd seen none of them after being dragged away to await His judgement.

It was worth it to forget the true nature of his changed appearance, to forget the procession through the Silver City. Forget the taunts and insults his siblings had called out as they reviled and disowned him. Forget the look on his mother's face just before she turned away from him. Forget the torment of burning in the fiery lake. To forget the confinement and the torture of his wings.

He deserved to burn. Maze shouldn't have pulled him out of the fire. _Or maybe she never did, and he burned and burned and burned._

Awareness returned as something cool touched his cheek. What was soothing at first turned to agony, the pressure on his skin ached, burned, froze all at once and he tried to pull away.

"Shh. I'll get you out. Shit. How much did she give you?"

"_Lan—Lania—"_

"Yes. It's me. Hold still. I'm getting you out of these." She released the straps he hadn't realised he'd been bound in and he drew his arms and legs in, curling in on himself. Shivering. It was so cold. Something covered his body. His skin felt like tiny knives stabbing already without this itchy, heavy thing. He pushed it off.

"Let's get you to the hearth and hope you can sleep this off."

All he knew was that when she touched him it hurt. Everything ached. And he was still spinning, still falling. "_Stop. Make it stop."_

"I can't," Lania answered. "Sleep. And then we'll assess how bad off you are." Hands grabbed, lifted. Lucifer twisted, trying to resist, but there was no coordination to it. A cushion appeared below him, and the warmth of the hearth soothed. Liquid was held to his mouth. It wasn't lethe, and he let it spill. He didn't even try to swallow it down to ease his thirst.

They left him alone after that. To sleep. To be lost. He was already lost.

But there was something…something he needed. To find? It took several tries, but he made it to his feet. Somewhere he needed to go?

The door. There. It was cold. He shivered and couldn't stop. His mind spun and he couldn't keep his balance. He didn't know where he was going. Or why. Ash fell all around him, swirling in the air, carried on the wind. It fell on his bare skin. The stones under his feet cut and stung. His chest ached and it was hard to breathe.

Why was he alone? Lucifer stumbled and fell, rolled onto his back and stared at the above, the great swirling ever present ash cloud. Never stars. Never anything. He blinked at the ash drifting down into his eyes. Everything ached, everything felt too sensitive. When had he left the Den? He didn't remember. He remembered…being held down. And then…nothing. Nothing was where he wanted to go back to, because there was nowhere else left to go —

The wind became strong, and he couldn't see, and he couldn't breathe… Instinct had him finding a place out of the wind, or at least with less wind. He needed shelter. His wings. He released his wings and they wrapped around him—

Someone crouched near him, a hand brushed across his face. Lucifer hoped it would offer more of the forgetting powder, but there was nothing. He felt something grasp his wrists and ankles, lifting, pulling, dragging—

And then all was dark.


	27. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion 11 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**11/21**

* * *

Maze stood on the wall. The view was the same as it was ashfall after ashfall. Her mind should be as empty as the view in front of her. It swirled and clogged like an ash storm. She couldn't even concentrate on leatherworking.

The way she'd left things with Lucifer felt like poison in her gut. But leaving had been the only thing she could do.

How dare he call her his _handler_? Handlers were in charge of beasts. Tiraq had been a handler. Maze didn't have a word for what she was to Lucifer. But it wasn't _that_.

And saying that all the sulking and cringing and refusal to look at her was _her_ fault?

Her fists clenched. She needed to pummel something. Break something. Fuck until she couldn't walk straight. Something to work out this energy. How much worse could it have gotten if she'd stayed in the dome and continued arguing with him?

She would have used the binding cord, and the thought slithered through her like a pit slug. She didn't dare go back now. It wouldn't take much to push her over the edge, and he'd be the thing she worked this poison out on. Would she really use that cord on him, after any amount of goading on his part? Would she risk losing his trust irrevocably? Yet, thinking about him made her want to bash him in the face.

A moment from their past came unbidden to her mind, back when Lucifer was still learning to speak and recovering from being imprisoned in the Spire...

She closed her eyes. Right from the start he'd craved physical contact. He had pressed up against her in the dark of the shelter after pulling him from the fiery lake. The memory of waking up as he caressed her hair. Why did she have to think about this now?

How could he have so much faith in her?

She couldn't go back to the dome. Not until this anger had passed. He had trusted her then. He'd called her good when his feathers started coming back in. She couldn't storm in, fists flying like she would with a Lilim. He wasn't Lilim and living-angels…were frustrating, infuriating, stubborn, ignorant, delicate, troublesome beasts that understood everything wrong. But he was _her_ living-angel, and she wasn't going back until she no longer risked ruining everything.

One ashfall became a hand of them and it became easier to continue her duties than to think about Lucifer and the fight it would take to rein him back in. One hand turned into two and then three, and still she avoided going back. It wasn't until her supervisor reminded her that the next ashfall would be her allotted free time that she realized how much time had passed. Her last encounter with Lucifer no longer brought seething anger, but cold dread and regret. How many times had she told Lucifer to just keep his head down. To keep quiet. To stop sleep wandering and waking up the other guards. The fire was still in him. She'd seen it when he shouted. She remembered all the times she hadn't seen it. All the times she'd thought he was going to move, but stood passive.

Too often, other Lilim compared Lucifer to a beast. That's all any of them thought he was at first, but Maze had known better almost as soon as she'd started interacting with him. He wasn't like Lilim either, though. Sometimes she was tempted to think of him as she would a fresh whelp newly assigned to the warrior cast. Lucifer could barely be compared to one of those. Before the debacle with Anilith, he'd demonstrated some of the appropriate insolence and offensiveness the young warriors were praised for, but she'd known it was a thin veneer of bravado. No Lilim, least of all a whelp, would ever suffer in silence the way he did.

It wasn't a weakness in Lucifer, was it? Stoicism was an alien concept, but it took strength of a kind to not bash your enemies in the face. She'd seen him wield a sword. What if the otherness of the angel could be due to his own experiences and training before landing in the fiery lake.

She'd left him without provisions or trade items for four hands of ashfalls. It wasn't only his companions who hadn't been feeding him correctly. She'd seen the thin porridge he made for himself. The tiny fires he started before looking her way and adding more hearth moss. He'd said it was enough, and she hadn't pushed him. Enough what? To stay alive? To thrive? When had he learned to avoid answering like that? She'd go to the market after her shift. There'd be enough time to go to the market and get what was needed and make it back. There'd even be time to make it back to the wall after if her anger began to flare again.

It was a good plan. She decided to go to the dome first and check what she needed to buy. Maybe she could ask Lucifer if he wanted some thistles. Or she could bring it back as a treat, just because. Or maybe he'd want to come to the market with her. He'd always liked going on outings.

The dome was quiet, a large drift of ash built up against the door flap. She brushed it aside with her foot, and untied the straps holding the door in place and entered.

"Lucifer?"

Empty.

It was clean, now. The food storage jars were full. A chunk of meat hung on the wall… Not fresh, withered away to almost nothing. She tossed it out into the lane. The hearth was cold again. Well, it wasn't like she'd expected him to sit around waiting for her to return. How long had he been gone? It took more than a few winds to build ash up in a drift like the one she found outside the door.

Part of her, a large part, wanted to go straight to the Pit and drag him back home. How dare he? But. What would that accomplish? Would it drive him further away? She had to wait. Be patient. There was no point in returning to the wall before the winds rose, so she lit the hearth, and set some water to boil and settled in.

The porridge was made, she set enough aside for Lucifer if he did come back home before the winds got too strong. The heat of the hearth and the quiet lulled her into an uneasy sleep. She was still alone later when she woke to the winds howling outside.

She sat up, unable to sleep any longer. The tiny dome had a single case with three shelves for storage. She made a habit of checking Lucifer's hearth moss and porridge jars, but she hadn't done a thorough inventory since shortly after she'd moved him here. His assurances that he'd had enough coin to buy what he'd _needed_ had been easy enough to believe. He didn't lie. But as she began opening jars she realized that she'd allowed him to define the word 'need' without clarifying exactly what that entailed. The baskets and jars on the top shelf were all empty.

The smallest jars on this shelf, easily contained in her fist, were for seasonings to make the bland fungus porridges palatable. They were all empty. The next shelf was the same. Two jars of porridge powder were full. He'd gone to the market after their fight, but the dust on them told her that he hadn't touched them in a long time. A sense of dread settled on her. _How long had he been gone_?

The winds were still blowing, so she continued searching the shelf. The backup hearth moss basket she'd assumed was full, was not.

Was there any point in continuing? She kicked his basket and the jars in front of it tumbled over, one of them cracking. The sound of metal clinking together stopped her. _Coin_. She knelt. The broken jar had been full of coin. Where had Lucifer gotten so much? She checked the other two jars. Also full of coin. She glanced back up at the bare shelves. He had abundant coin, why would he buy so few supplies? She brushed her hand over the spilled coin. Something else lay underneath.

Her pouch. The one she gave Anilith for Tribute. But how? Had someone from the Spire returned it without her knowing? Who would do such a thing?

She loosened the string and emptied the contents. All the special items she'd thought lost. The warg tooth…

And, she felt a pull. Something else, something with power. Everything she'd put in the pouch was dumped in front of her. What could still be inside? She pushed her fingers through the small opening, brushed across something soft stuck to the leather, and drew it out. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. A feather. Resting on her palm, the small feather shimmered with its own light.

Lucifer got the pouch for her? When? Why would he do this? If the winds were not blowing she would go searching for him. Demand answers. Had he tried to tell her? He'd begun several times, "Maze, when we were called to the Spire—" and that was as far as he'd ever gotten. He had sulked with an intensity she couldn't bear every time she stopped him, but she also couldn't bear to hear him talk about trust and being forced to take his own feather. She remembered how he'd described having them removed—and she couldn't bear to think about her failure to stop it. She'd promised him it wouldn't happen!

No one stole from Anilith.

No whelp would ever dare. No warrior would be so foolhardy. How had _Lucifer_ gotten into the Spire to claim this for her? Or had he taken it that ashfall? She thought back to where all the pieces had been in the chamber. He had been kneeling… Yes. Very close to where Anilith had thrown the pouch. Maze smiled. If anyone knew about his bravery in stealing this… Had he known the full import of what he'd done? She laughed. He'd known enough to keep it hidden all this time. She secured it to her belt.

It was time for the rest of the Collective to know that Anilith had lost a prize. The gossip was clear that Mazikeen had offered her trophy pouch and Anilith had still gotten a feather out of her. The gossip bragged of how wily and great a leader Anilith was to get so much tribute from a daughter of Lilith. No more. It was time to show that Anilith couldn't hold on to the prizes she took.

When the winds died, she was going to go find Lucifer at the Leviathan's Pit. She didn't care what protests he had in store for her. She caressed the tiny feather, and it glowed so brightly that she had to squint her eyes. It dimmed again when she dropped it into the pouch. He'd shared a piece of himself. He couldn't have given her a more intimate gesture of what he felt for her.

And yet, doubt surged within her. Had he done so to tell her again that he thought of her as his handler? That she only desired his feathers? She shook her head. This feather was useless for practical applications. Too small to hold enough divinity to grow anything, too fluffy to make a blade, this was a sentimental gift. The way he had stared at her with reverence as she told him the stories of the items… He wanted to be remembered.

Had he meant the gift as a goodbye? She didn't believe he could fly; not with his wings so grey and clumpy and the still missing large feather would interfere, wouldn't it? She didn't really understand how all those feathers were supposed to work to let him fly, but it seemed like they ought to each be important.

The winds slowed. Mazikeen ate her porridge and dressed in her armor and boots. He could come home on his own, but she'd given him enough space. The withered meat and pile of ash already concerned her. What he'd left behind scared her. What if he had attempted to fly away despite the pitiful state of his wings? The image of him lying broken at the bottom of the wall for scavengers flashed before her mind. _No._ There were other possibilities she could explore. He'd spent nearly all his time at the Leviathan Pit before the fight. That's where she'd look for him first.

She left the little dome and marched through the lanes. She only had one ashfall free from her duty, and they clearly needed a staggering amount of work. If he needed her, duty be damned. Her vow to Anilith said that no one, not even the Soverain could interfere with her caring for the living-angel. The bare shelves alone said that she'd allowed her wall duty to interfere. She turned onto a new lane, entering the throwback quarter, when she heard sandaled feet slapping the stones in the lane behind her.

Her view of the pursuer was blocked by domes. She gripped the handle of her blades, ready for anything, but what self-respecting Lilim would make such a clatter? She expected to see Lucifer round the corner, although she'd never known him to lack grace like this.

"Mazikeen?" She knew that high pitched voice. It was Squee, the tiny male nest minder.

"What do you want?" she asked as he skidded to a stop in front of her.

"You need to come to nest," he said, panting.

She loomed over him. "And why would I do that?"

"It's your angel whelp. We think he's dying!"

Cold washed over her. _Dying?_ She motioned him to lead the way.

He took off in his noisy, awkward run.

"How did _you_ end up with him?"

"I check on whelps when winds die down. Young ones need help sometimes. Found your living-angel in an alcove. Out for the whole wind cycle, it looks like. No clothes. Hurt. Dromos says it's bad, very bad. Says I should have brought him to you. We don't want to end up like Tiraq." He puffed, out of breath.

Mazikeen gave him a shove. Pathetic little lump. "Move faster, then."


	28. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion 12 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**12/21**

* * *

Mazikeen followed the annoying little male into the nest. She grimaced. The smell down here was different. _Spawn_ smell. Sprog scent underneath it. She shuddered. Never had she willingly entered a nest before. It was beneath her dignity. She had a fondness for whelps, with their attitude and shameless guile; the way they would clamor for attention and seek affection if you had won their respect. She shook her head. No one was supposed to know that she had a soft spot for the little monsters. But spawn, and especially sprogs, were different!

Squee led her through a labyrinth of passageways at a jog. Past rooms full of screeching and mewling tiny Lilim. Past store rooms; she could smell many of Lucifer's favorite foods as she passed them. Down into the sprog rooms at the deepest level of the nest caverns. It was very dark down here. Only the faintest glow from the rocks lit the halls and chambers. Lucifer would be utterly blind.

Finally Squee stopped in front of a room with a leather door flap tied over it. She nodded, approving their decision to not lock him in. She untied the straps and stepped inside, leaving the flap loose. Squee could tie it back if he wanted.

Dromos was a massive Lilim. Her head barely reached his lower ribs and his breadth was easily three of hers. He was her much younger brother, and she remembered when he was a spawn. So large and fearsome looking...and so utterly useless as a hunter. He could be fierce when roused, and his sheer size gave most pause, but he was far too placid to make it as a warrior. He'd ever been drawn to caring for the tiniest sprogs and spawn. Patient with them in a way that made Mazikeen nauseous. Someone had to ensure the growth of Lilim-kind, she supposed.

He turned his great shaggy head toward her, half his face covered in a beard, the other half warped and deformed like hers. Lucifer lay naked on Dromos' lap; face down, arms and head draped over one of Dromos' massive arms, his wings hung limp, gray and caked with ash.

"Mazikeen! I've gotten some of the ash out of him, but he's weak. He can only handle a little coughing at a time. It's going to take a while for him to recover—if he makes it that long." Dromos punctuated his words by clapping Lucifer on the upper back several times between the wing joints.

She wanted to do something, needed to help, but what? Standing here helpless wasn't going to solve anything. "What happened? Has he been awake?"

"No. Looks like he spent the wind without shelter and used his wings as cover. It's a wonder he's breathing at all." Dromos rolled Lucifer over and tipped him until his head was angled down, then smacked the front of his chest. Mazikeen watched, hands curled in helpless fists as Dromos continued shifting Lucifer and smacking his chest until finally, a weak cough escaped. It built until Lucifer was coughing up black phlegm. Lucifer gasped and shook, unable to draw in effective breaths.

Dromos took a cup of gully wasp nectar and fed sips of it to Lucifer until the coughing stopped. He held him propped upright until Lucifer's color improved, before placing him on a padded mat at his side. Lucifer lay shivering and wheezing, wings flexed tightly against his back as he curled in on himself.

"I'll tend to him from here."

Dromos looked down at her, and then leaned over and sniffed at Lucifer's breath, and then pointedly back at her. "I may be a lowly nest minder but I know the smell of lethe when I encounter it. What were you thinking Mazikeen? Did you need to cripple his will to control him? He's barely more than a spawn."

Mazikeen leaned forward, and made a sour face as she smelled the same thing Dromos had. "He wouldn't."

Dromos narrowed his eyes at her and grumbled deep in his chest. "It wasn't you giving it to him?"

She growled and reached for Lucifer's arm. "Of course it wasn't me. I've been keeping him alive, restoring him. Not… this."

Dromos roughly dragged Lucifer out of her reach, and pushed the angel behind him. "Not doing so good a job at handling your charge, are you? You'll be lucky if he's not beyond mending."

"You dare—"

"When have you ever taken care of anything other than yourself?"

"I helped raise you, didn't I?"

Dromos kept his massive body between them. "That was a long time ago, Mazikeen, and from what I recall you left me to Varun so you could go hunt. You don't let _spawn_ out of the nest! You keep an eye on the youngling whelps!"

"He's not a spawn!" Mazikeen protested.

Dromos snorted in response. "Squee told me this angel whelp didn't know how to tie sandals when he found him wandering in the marketplace a sprog cycle ago. You know how the lethe dealers are. What they do to whelps on it!"

From behind Dromos, Lucifer groaned and blindly reached out.

Mazikeen swallowed heavily. She hadn't recognized the symptoms. The scent had been masked under the reek of sex and hair-moss. And...she hadn't been paying attention. She'd been too wrapped up in her own misery.

"You really didn't know?" Dromos' voice dropped to a softer tone.

"Why would I suspect lethe? You know how rare it is."

Dromos sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. "It's not rare anymore. We've lost a hand of whelps to it in the last few sprog cycles. The potential of many fine warriors lost. They might make it as gatherers now."

Lucifer shifted and cried out, drawing their attention back to him. Mazikeen shoved Dromos to the side with an angry huff, and this time, he didn't resist. "Bring candles."

"Best to keep them in the dark. When it gets this bad, they get light sensitive."

"No. He's dark-blind. His eyes don't work like ours."

Dromos put his giant hand on her shoulder. "They go blind exposed to light, Mazikeen. He's your angel. If you want to take the risk, I'll send for candles."

Mazikeen looked at Lucifer shivering on the floor. "Just one. He needs light."

"You don't need to stay," Dromos reminded her again. "We've handled this many times. We will care for him as well as we would a Lilim whelp."

"I want you out. I will care for him."

The wheezing coming from Lucifer grew more labored. "Have you ever cared for someone with ash-lung?"

Mazikeen knew Dromos had won this, but she wasn't ready to admit yet. "What of it."

He scooped Lucifer up in his oversized paws, holding him upright, and the breath sounds evened out.

"He needs me," Mazikeen insisted.

"Stay with him then." Dromos fixed her with a glare. "The withdrawal is torture. Every sensation is magnified. Their minds are too muddled to cope. You understand, even if he survives, he'll likely never be as he once was?"

Mazikeen shook her head. "Not Lucifer. He'll survive and he'll recover."

"Then settle in. It'll be hands of ashfalls before we know for sure." Dromos shook his head. "Squee! Fetch a candle."

"Going, going, going."

Lucifer reached out as Mazikeen crouched beside him. "You've had a chance to inspect him. Is he injured?"

"Other than the ash-lung, nothing visibly life-threatening."

"After Squee returns I want you out. I will care for him."

"Mazikeen—"

She stood up and faced him, and though Dromos was larger, she knew he feared her. She waited for Squee to return with a candle. He lit it and placed it on the wall bracket on the other side of the room.

Lucifer stirred, eyes opening in a squint and then roaming the room until he locked on Maze.

"Leave us," Mazikeen ordered Dromos again.

The larger Lilim grumbled, but complied. He and Squee left.

Mazikeen moved Lucifer back onto the bedroll and then sat cross-legged beside him. She'd done the right thing, hadn't she? Now that she was faced with Lucifer on her own, the reality of his condition struck her anew. Dromos was right, she didn't know what she was doing. She wasn't the one who regrew Lucifer's wing feathers, he'd done that on his own. All she'd done was provide food and shelter.

She'd thought she was doing the right thing by letting him fend for himself while she worked guarding the wall. He hadn't wanted her around. Wasn't teaching whelps to survive independently the main purpose of sending them out of the nest? She brushed her fingers through Lucifer's hair. Ash coated his scalp and tinted his hair grey. She curled her finger around one of the curls and sighed. She kept forgetting he wasn't Lilim. He was strange to this world, and though he acted like a whelp sometimes, he wasn't one. He would never be Lilim.

Lucifer moaned again, seeking her hand. Maze let him, hoping it was a sign he was regaining consciousness, but instead, he pulled her finger up to his mouth. She tore her hand away, and he moaned again, scrabbling, reaching. He licked his lips and keened.

He babbled. Half-formed sounds that almost sounded like a word at times. She didn't have to understand to recognise it for what it was.

Begging for more lethe.

She pushed him back down, not gently. Disgust filled her. They had used him. She was going to hunt down whoever gave lethe to him and rip their limbs off… slowly... and then leave them outside the wall to be feasted upon alive by carrion. The last time he'd been badly used she'd left the Lilim at fault with a strong warning beaten and carved into their hides. This time she wouldn't be so kind.

Lucifer's wheezing breath picked up speed. His eyes snapped open. They fixed on an empty corner. Wide. Afraid. He began babbling in his angel calls. Again, she didn't need to understand words to understand his tone. He was terrified of whatever visions he saw there. But there was nothing.

"Lucifer." She squeezed his shoulder when he didn't respond.

His face scrunched up and he hissed in a pained breath. His focus was back on her, but his hands reached for hers and he licked his dry lips.

She examined him, looking for clues, she could use to find the people she needed to kill. Though Dromos had said he had no life threatening injuries, something bad had happened to him. The dark circles around Lucifer's eyes she'd seen last time were more pronounced. She brushed her finger over his throat. Bruises in the shape of fingerprints and narrow lines overlapped and criss-crossed over and around his neck. Moving down his body, she found welts and bruises, lashmarks, deep scratches, bites, even small burns. His wrists and ankles were bruised and rubbed raw from restraints.

It was easy to surmise whoever did this had been the one to give him the lethe—far too much lethe. With this much drug in his system she doubted he'd have been able to understand anything beyond pain.

Dromos returned and brought cleaning and bandaging supplies. Holding Lucifer down while he writhed in agony, too breathless to scream, as Dromos cleaned the ash from the open sores imprinted itself deeply in her mind. It haunted her. They had to keep treating him for the ash no matter how he cried out in pain at even the lightest touches, and every time added to her desire to kill those responsible.

To treat the ash-lung, Dromos thumped Lucifer's chest and back several times an ashfall, causing him to cough until his eyes watered; until he choked up black phlegm.

The third ashfall, Dromos' growled as he fed Lucifer sips of the nectar to stop his coughing.

"What?"

"It should be clear by now."

"Can't you hit him more often?"

"I'll try. Too often and he won't cough strong enough. For now his breathing is steady enough to allow him to take medicine to help him rest."

She took the vial and fed it to Lucifer. He took it with more enthusiasm than he had anything else, and he lay quiet for several heartbeats. Then his face screwed up in abject misery and he began babbling—begging—again. The broken sounds came near enough to words at times that she understood them, and they made her hatred of whoever had done this grow until it filled her chest with a nearly uncontainable mass.

She understood enough to know he wasn't begging her to not hurt him. And not just for more lethe either.  
It was raw and needy and disgusting, but the expressions he wore and sounds he made toward the things that only he could see were worse. He warded himself from imaginary blows. Reached for things that weren't there with such yearning that it hurt her to watch it.

Dromos ignored it, said most of the whelps were like that. It would pass with the withdrawal. She hated the ones who'd caused this.

She hated herself for letting it happen.

It was easy to look back and realise he'd already been suffering lethe addiction when she'd found him in the ash covered dome. She berated herself for missing it. The confusion, lethargy, even the brash anger, but mostly the smell should have told her. Lethe users smelled like wet sandals, but it was exceptionally rare, she'd never considered it as a possibility.

How could she have been so blind?

She looked at his still ash coated wings. He'd been used and left to die in the wind.

It would take several ash cycles to get through this. She held him when he let her, gave him space when he grew restless and overcome with visions. He flipped between begging for Lethe in jumbled Lilim sounds and begging the corners and walls, even the ceiling in his angel noises.


	29. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion 13 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**13/21**

* * *

The shivering had gotten worse, Maze tried to sooth Lucifer's shaking limbs with her own body heat. His skin continued to grow cooler to the touch each ashfall, as though something inside him were dying.

"Mazikeen, I think it's time to introduce your angel to the pool."

"What pool?"

The nest-minder grunted, staring at the hearth. "There's a large basin, big enough for ten full grown Lilim. We use it for cleaning spawn when their grime gets too thick. The water flows, hot from the underground spring. It loosens the muck off them and makes them good and tired. We've used it on lethe addled when they can't warm themselves. Works well enough in the short term."

"We don't know Lucifer is damaged—"

"The cold is on him. It's not a good sign."

"How hot is it?"

"Hot enough. And it's about time to get some of that ash off. It's a wonder he's not got toxic rash yet."

It was true, the longer they waited to clean him, the more complications would arise. But his skin thus far had been far too over-stimulated to even make the attempt. "I'll bring him."

She carried Lucifer as Dromos led the way down the tunnel, carrying the dim covered lantern with him.

"You'll have to go in with him." Dromos said.

Mazikeen rolled her eyes. Did he think she was just going to toss him in and let him sink? She passed her burden to the nestminder, removed her clothes, and jumped in. The heat was a shock to the system, but it felt good. Hot, but not burning. If this didn't warm Lucifer, she wasn't sure what could.

Dromos passed him down, and Maze gripped him awkwardly. If he were Lilim she'd have held him with his back against her front, but the wings got in the way of that, and she held him facing her instead. It would have to do. She found a spot to get comfortable, leaning against the corner so she could support herself and hold him at the same time.

A gentle current ran through the pool, the hot spring constantly replenishing itself; the dirty water draining to parts unknown. This was much better than the disgusting basins in the bath houses where you sat in your filth to get clean.

The current of the water gently billowed his wings around her. The water slipped in and around his feathers, the grime sticking to them dissolving, turning the water dark, and then clearing as it drained and was replaced.

She felt him stir against her, tensing in her arms.

"Lucifer. Are coming back to me?"

"Maze?" His voice was rough and low. His eyes darted around the room. "Are you real?"

"Yes, I'm real."

His arms came up, around her, holding onto her as much as she was holding him. His eyes remained unfocused. And then he started to relax again, his grip around her back loosened.

"Stay awake, stay with me."

"I am." But his grip loosened further until he was lax in her arms again. The gentle motions of the water undulated his wings.

"You were cold," Maze explained. "Dromos thought water would be a good idea. You're warmer now. You're going to be okay."

"Water?" he said after a long pause. He lifted his hand as he used to when he'd only been learning to speak.

Her heart clenched. Did he understand anything she was saying?

"Lucifer, I want to wash your wings for you. Can you extend them?" she asked, and waited, but he didn't respond. She maneuvered him around to prop him up on the edge of the pool. She sighed in relief when he extended them. He did understand. It wasn't just a response to the position. _He wasn't addled._

"You've got ash all over you," she explained and grabbed a handful of sponge-moss. She started brushing it along his plumes, as gently as she could. "You're feathers were gray with it when Squee brought you in."

"Squee?" he echoed.

"He found you out in the ash at the end of wind. You met him before, remember?"

Lucifer shook his head tiredly. "No."

She went on. He was awake, and it felt better talking to him than not, even if he didn't understand. "You hate when your wings get ashy. You told me how bad they itch," and she continued on as she worked, by the time she was done, most of the ash had been cleared from his feathers. "Hold them out again, let the water rinse away what's left."

He did.

It was a simple interaction, but it gave her hope. Wings done, she ducked around him again, pulling him back against her, holding him steady in the hot water. "Stay awake," she whispered in his ear.

He was looking around again. "Where?"

"This is the nest under the Spire. Squee is a nest—"

He tensed, started struggling.

"Stop, what's wrong?"

"Spire—Maze…"

"No. Not in the Spire, under. We're safe here. I promise."

"I don't remember," he mumbled.

"I know. It's—" She stopped and cleared her throat. "You're going to be fine." The lie came easily, because it was the same one she'd been telling herself since this all started.

Dromos had warned her against staying in the heat too long. She pulled Lucifer back to the edge, and with a lot of effort, managed to drag him back up to the ground. He pushed himself up to his knees, swayed, and almost fell back into the water again. He would have if not for her arm around his waist. "Careful." She grabbed for her own clothes, and he started coughing all over again.

He bent forward braced on his arms, choking on the gunk in his lungs for what seemed like forever. Even after the coughing subsided he couldn't seem to catch his breath, and he ended up limp in her arms, unconscious from the ordeal. Whatever progress she'd imagined he'd gained in the water seemed lost all over again.

But the water had done its job. He was no longer cool to the touch. That had to count for something, didn't it?

She got dressed and Dromos helped her return Lucifer to their room. She watched Dromos place Lucifer on the bed roll where he curled up, nearly unresponsive.

"He's not improving." Mazikeen stared at Dromos.

"You said he spoke to you. That's improvement."

"Barely. A few words. I don't even think he understood most of what I said to him."

"Give it time." Dromos reached for her, but Mazikeen stepped away.

"How much time? I'm no use here. There are other things I should be doing, like tracking down who did this to him. I need to go to the Leviathan's Pit, someone there must know something."

Dromos grumbled. "The Pit? They don't deal in lethe there."

Mazikeen gestured at Lucifer. "Someone did this. I'm going to find out who."

"Didn't you say you're the only one who can take care of him?" Dromos taunted lightly. "You'd leave him now?"

Mazikeen looked back at the figure curled up on the floor. "I've done what I could."

"It takes time, Mazikeen. The poison is still in his mind."

"You said yourself, you don't think he'll come through this as he was, so what's the point! I'm no use here."

"Stay, Mazikeen. Even addled there is awareness. He's already shown he still recognises who you are. He calls for you first. When he wakes he'll suffer more for the confusion and panic if you aren't there. The lethe dealers aren't going anywhere."

She hesitated. Watching him like this _hurt_. The knowledge that he might never recover was more than she could bear. Lucifer moaned softly in his sleep. She didn't want to leave him. "I'll stay. Just until he's more aware."

Dromos nodded approvingly. "I'll have one of the minders bring some food and drink. Might make a decent nest-minder of you yet." He chuckled and darted out of the way before Mazikeen could punch his arm at the insult. "Give him more of the sleeping draught," he called as he ducked through the door.

But that left her alone again with Lucifer. She sat by his side, and gently rested her hand on his shoulder. She hated drugging him to sleep all the time, but at least asleep, he wasn't suffering. Dromos was right, the lethe dealers could wait for now. Until Lucifer recovered more. She measured the sleeping draught out and pulled Lucifer's head and shoulders onto her lap.

He woke briefly. "Maze?"

She startled at the sound of her name. There was more awareness in his eyes now than she'd seen through his entire recovery.

"You're here?" His voice was still rough with coughing and the deep bruises still visible across his throat, but the words were clear.

"Why wouldn't I be?" She squeezed his arm and he winced at the touch.

"You left."

"I'm here now. I'm staying. Drink this." She held the potion to his lips and he drank it.

He was quiet for a while, and she thought he'd drifted away again. "Maze."

"Hmm?"

He opened his eyes, focused on her face for the first time. He placed his fingers over hers.

"Stay with me, Lucifer," Mazikeen whispered, leaning close.

But Lucifer's eyes had already closed. His fingers slipped from hers, the sleeping draught taking effect. Mazikeen arranged him into a comfortable position on the bed and crawled up to lay behind him. She wrapped herself around his chest, and contemplated all the ways she could carve pieces out of whoever hurt him.

A routine set in. Mazikeen brought him to the pool each ashfall. He was calmer and more aware in the hot water. He grew stronger and eventually he was able to walk back to their quarters with her support. Food was delivered on a regular schedule. Ooze fungus, just as she'd asked for, and plenty of water. In between, he lay, eyes dim, unfocused.

"Time to eat, can you sit up?" Maze asked.

His gaze traveled to her, but it took a while for him to respond. Mazikeen waited, she tried to be patient. Slowly he shifted, pushed himself up on one arm, sat with his legs folded beside him.

She passed him a bowl, and he accepted. It felt a lot like back when she'd first met him. Far too much like that. "Do you recognise me?"

He shifted his attention from the bowl back to her face. "Yes."

"Do you remember what happened to you?"

He placed the bowl on the ground. "No."

"It was the lethe drug."

"Lethe?" Confusion marred his features.

"Yes."

He shuddered and took a deep breath, but his breath caught and turned into rasping coughs. He coughed and choked and Mazikeen pushed an empty bowl his way for him to spit the gunk still coming out of his lungs into. The coughs quieted after, but left him exhausted and he laid down without eating.

Nothing he'd said so far gave her any insight on his recovery. "Who gave you the lethe, Lucifer?"

"I did," he whispered and curled in on himself, as he did when in pain.

And that made no sense at all. She poured another sleeping drought. "It's okay. Drink this and sleep. Maybe you'll be able to tell me more next time you wake up."

She took back the bowl of ooze fungus and placed it by the door. At least the dream-wandering had quieted. There were no more nonsensical mutterings or movements as he rested. The stillness was just as disconcerting.

Dromos returned to check in. "The ash-lung is healing nicely, Mazikeen. With luck the danger has passed."

"Why's he still coughing so much?"

"Healing takes time. Is he still taking the sleeping draught?"

"Yes." She paced across the room near the fire. "How much longer, Dromos?"

"He needs to sleep, Mazikeen. The poison batters their minds, like fists to a body. Sleep lets the mind rest so it can heal. When the ache passes in his head, then we can stop making him sleep. It takes time. It is a mistake to push them when they're in this stage. They lose more."

"Fine! Fine! We keep him sleeping!"

"It's hard to wait." Dromos said aloud what she was thinking, as though she were a spawn needing confirmation.

Mazikeen growled at him.

"I brought you some leatherworking tools."

She eyed him. "At what cost?"

"Mazikeen," Dromos spread his arms wide, acting innocent. "Your words wound me. Why do you suspect ulterior motives?"

"What do you want for it?"

His grin only grew bigger. "I need belts for five spawn, this big"—he gestured with his huge hands—"And the tools are yours."

"And that's all?"

"Yes, Mazikeen. Unless you get bored and wish to make more spawn clothes. I've got plenty of leather. We could use whatever pieces you make to sell for extra coin at the market. You know the Spire only provides the barest of necessities. A little extra here and there is always appreciated."

She snatched the tools. "I'll make your belts."

"Up to you, of course. It's better than pacing and brooding."

The next hand of ashfalls passed much the same. When Lucifer was awake, he responded to some simple commands, but not much else. Other times he looked at her with his brows knit together and his head tilted to the side, as though he were trying to understand. He spoke a little, but questions about what happened brought nothing but confusion.

Dromos was no help with his talk about 'trainability' and reminders to not set her hopes too high. He didn't know Lucifer like she did.

Lucifer was looking at her again when she made her third pouch. She wondered how long he'd been awake. "Hungry?" She'd learned to keep her questions short.

He pushed himself up, as awkward and uncoordinated as he'd been the first time and coughed. Not the same deep hacking it had been in the beginning "Water?"

She passed him the flask. Him asking for things usually meant a good spell. Maybe this time he'd show a glimmer of his old self. He accepted the flask, drank, and placed it beside him when he was done.

"How are you feeling?" Maze asked cautiously.

He coughed again before answering. "My head's pounding. And it hurts—here." He placed his hand on his chest, and coughed.

She suppressed the whoop that wanted to escape. This was the first time he'd answered anything so clearly and quickly. "Do you know where you are?"

He looked around, confusion and growing worry showing in his expression. "No."

"This is the nest," she explained.

"Squee found me?" he asked.

Mazikeen grinned. "Yes. You remember?"

"No," he coughed again and cleared his throat. "You said… I was found in the ash?"

How long ago had she told him that? He remembered? "You've been aware of everything I told you? All this time?"

He shook his head, his gaze drifted away from her. "Some… not a lot."

Mazikeen forced herself to stay calm, to take it slow. First she yelled out for the nearest nest-minder to go get some food. She was sick of ooze fungus, but she wanted Lucifer to be comfortable. So long as she stayed with him, she'd been eating the same as him.

When she turned back, Lucifer was still awake and staring at her, though he was rubbing his forehead and grimacing. A bad sign. She gave him another sleeping draught, but couldn't resist asking "How much do you remember?" He was getting better, she could go kill whoever was responsible if he could point her in the right direction…

But he only glanced around the small room. "Here. A long time?"

She turned her face away, not wanting him to see the disappointment. "Yeah. It's been a while."

He saw it anyway, and reached forward, taking her hand. She let him pull her down, chest to chest, his arms wrapping around her shoulders and holding her close. "Maze, I've missed you," he whispered.

"I've missed you, too," Maze answered.

Over the next few ashfalls, he stayed awake longer, and he started talking more. Mazikeen tried not to push. He remembered her former dome, and the market, he talked about walking the lanes, and asked about Fraq and her males, Wen, Bof, and Grog. She filled in as many missing pieces as she could. Even as he talked to her, it was clear when memories started coming together. His face became more animated, and suddenly details would emerge about a place Fraq had showed him, or some characteristics he found interesting on a Lilim he'd seen at the Leviathan Pit.

He said not a word about what happened at the Spire with the tribute or about the lethe drug.

"Lucifer, I've waited too long. I have to go find who hurt you."

He met her gaze steadily. "No one hurt me, Maze."

"Just because you don't remember—"

"I remember enough."

"Then why haven't you said anything?"

"Because there's nothing to say. It's all mixed up. There's so much I can't sort out—"

"If you don't remember, why are you so adamant that no one hurt you?" Mazikeen hadn't meant to upset him. It was still too soon in his recovery to push. She noticed the fine lines forming around his eyes. The headache was returning.

He looked past her. "I remember wanting it. I still want it. Maze—" he couldn't continue as another bout of coughing took over. It left him panting for breath, but he sat up again. "I liked it."

Mazikeen shook her head. "You're only saying that because you don't remember. That's how lethe works, it makes you like it so much you keep going back for more even when you know you shouldn't." She wished she could make him understand. "You're not from here, how are you to know more than our own kind who are trained to survive out in the collective? I was supposed to protect you, and I failed. We've both been manipulated, and I'm going to find out by who."

"There's no one," he mumbled, rubbing his temples. "My head hurts, it's hard to focus."

"Just a few more questions, Lucifer. Do you remember where you got the lethe?"

"There was a large dome? I can't sort it out. It's all," he spun his hand in the air. "Mixed up."

"When you think about lethe, is there anyone you think of, in particular?"

He closed his eyes, forehead creasing in tension. "When I try, it's just shadows. Let me come with you. If I'm there, maybe I'll see something to help me remember more."

She snorted. She'd be an idiot to trust he wanted anything other than more lethe, but she said, "Not while you're still recovering."

"Then wait for me." he reached her hand again but she pulled away.

"Not this time. You're well enough now for Dromos to take care of you."

"Don't leave me behind again, Maze."

"Only for now. Dromos is a nest minder." She placed her hand on his shoulder. "He helped you when Squee brought you in from the ash, got you breathing again."

"No."

"Take the sleeping draught. I'm going to the Leviathan's Pit to ask around."

"I'm tired of sleeping." He placed his hand over hers.

Mazikeen took a deep breath. Had she really been looking forward to him arguing with her again? She grinned, of course she had.

"Come here, Maze."

She chuckled, "I am here."

He leaned in closer, kissed her neck.

"You're still not well. Take the sleeping draught."

"I've missed you," he said, but accepted the medicine. "Maze," he said, and pulled her to him. He closed  
his mouth over hers, and she lay down at his coaxing. Their hands roamed one another, mapping out once familiar features. His hands soon stilled, one arm draped across her abdomen, and his eyes drifted closed.

"How bad is it?" she asked him, trailing her fingers across his forehead.

"There's a pounding inside. Constantly," he admitted.

"It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay."

"I don't feel okay."

"It's the drug. This will pass."

He hugged her tighter and nuzzled into her neck. "The Leviathan's Pit is a good place. Don't hurt the throwbacks. I like them."

Maze heaved a sigh, but said, "We'll see. Depends on what I discover."

"Stay with me."

"For a little while. Sleep and I'll stay another ashfall."

She ran her fingers through his hair. He talked—mumbled—about a green-haired female with a forked tongue who liked him and took him places. The description sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. If the patrons at The Leviathan's Pit didn't prove helpful, she would find this female and demand to know where she had taken Lucifer.


	30. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion 14 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**14/21**

* * *

Lucifer stretched, his bones and joints echoed a faint ache, but better, far better than they'd been. His head didn't hurt. He rubbed across his forehead and temples. The ache had been so constant for so long, that the absence left him light and energetic. His wings held more life than they had before, and he rolled his shoulders, sighing with relief when they tucked away out of this dimension. There'd been a candle burning… He patted around until his hand touched the bundle.

He smiled. Of course Maze wouldn't leave him in the dark. He struck the rocks and caught the sparks with the moss bundle. When it burned steadily, he lit the candle. The light exposed the room. There wasn't a lot in it, but he didn't need much. Maze would be back in a few flakes of ash. He frowned. No. She'd left. Panic spiked. _I'll be back soon._ He took a deep breath. The continuing memory lapses bothered him. It would be okay. He didn't need to worry. He waited for a long time. The candle burned away a quarter of its height when it occurred to him that he didn't know where this chamber was.

Nothing stopped him from exploring. Maze hadn't warned him not to. He got to his feet. Staying upright was harder than he remembered, how long would the background dizziness last? He frowned. Clothes hung on pegs and a basket sat in the corner. Someone had collected his clothing from Maze's dome? Relief at the sight washed through him. He touched the clothes, the unexpected softness brought a smile to his face. He took them to the bedroll near the dim light of the candle. Izuden had picked this sleeveless robe. The textures slipped over his skin, smooth and warm. The leggings and tunic, Maze had chosen. All these items came from that glorious ashfall he'd spent at the market with Maze and Izuden experimenting with face paints and dancing to the drum beats. He wrapped the memory around himself as much as he did the clothes.

Dressed, with even his feet wrapped in layers, Lucifer felt secure. And _warm_. He'd been cold for so long that warmth was a novelty worth noting. He held the candle aloft and peered into the darkness beyond. The hallway stretched out to either side of his room. He smelled water from one direction. _The hot pool_. He turned the other direction. Doors lined the walls, some opening at floor level, others higher on the wall, the spacing was irregular, as expected with Lilim construction. He moved slowly, the feeble light from the candle not illuminating beyond arm's length.

The hall ended in stairs. He hesitated. Go back or forward? He froze, one foot on the step. It shouldn't be so hard to decide. He knew what he wanted. He always knew what he wanted...but he didn't. His mind remained as frozen as his posture. The male Maze had spoken to, Dromos, had told her often not to expect improvement. His memory fragmented and broke and his thoughts crawled. He shouldn't be like this, and he caused it. He made himself like this.

He took the step. His old self didn't doubt and hesitate, so it wasn't allowed now.

The hall at the top of the stairs twisted and turned before opening into a larger room. His candle created a tiny halo around him. The dark pressed in, but he risked stepping away from the wall into the unknown. Quick swishes of movement and whispers surrounded him, and then dozens of tiny, sticky creatures attacked his legs, grasping his clothes, climbing up him. The tiny things nipped at exposed skin, and emitted chattering, overlapping, high pitched noises that imitated Lilim words. The wall of sound overwhelmed him after the recent quiet. He tried backing away, but they tangled around his feet.

"Enough!" Lucifer rolled his shoulders. His wings whooshed into this reality with a gust of air that knocked several of the creatures to the floor. He flared his feathers. No denizen of hell could tolerate their light.

Bipedal creatures of varying sizes from below knee high to waist high filled the room. Many squealed, in their teeny, ear piercing voices, and covered their eyes. One, braver than the rest raised a tiny knife gripped in its chubby fingers in a defensive motion. It's oversized head and large eyes gave the gesture a comical effect, but something about the protruding bone on the chin and the tiny mauve and gold horns with the spiral twist seemed familiar.

The effort to keep his wings flared drained his energy and they dimmed, drooping until the primaries brushed the floor. He reached for the wall, the dizziness making him feel unsteady in the face of the yawning darkness.

A meaty arm slapped down across Lucifer's shoulders. "Living-angel! Finally, we get to meet you on your feet!"

Lucifer startled, but the heavy arm held him steady. His head barely reached the male's shoulder, and the giant was broad in a way that made Lucifer feel diminutive. Images stuttered through his mind.  
The memory of being carried and maneuvered reminded him that the dizziness had once been far worse. And a name surfaced to go with this shaggy giant.

"Dromos?"

The giant's large hand slid down from Lucifer's shoulder, rubbing up and down his bicep. A broad, open baring of the teeth looked dangerous on this male, despite it being of the friendly type. "That's right. You remembered! Dromos, at your service." He gestured at the darkness beyond the pool of light created by Lucifer's candle. "The spawn don't mean nothing by it. Attracted to power, you know." He turned to the room and scowled at the small creatures encroaching into the light before reaching into a pouch at his waist and tossing a handful of shiny pebbles. The creatures scrambled after the pebbles the sounds of their scuttling feet getting further away from Lucifer.

Like Maze, half Dromos' face was shredded and rotten. The eye that wasn't milky white was a startling blue, and his mouth was spread in that wide, jovial, but disconcerting, smile. Sounds of fighting broke out in the darkness. Several of the small creatures' voices raised in shouts and snarls, and Dromos watched proudly.

Lucifer tried and failed to duck out from under the male's arm. "What are they?"

"These? These are a few of the collective's spawn. Future warriors, farmers, hunters. One or two will be Close to Mother, shift to the golden eyes, if we're lucky."

"Spawn?"

Dromos frowned a little. "Offspring, progeny, young." He frowned deeper at Lucifer's continued confusion. "These are the product of mating."

"Mating?"

Dromos gave him a very concerned look. "Perhaps your mind is more addled than we suspected."

Lucifer looked down at himself. "I am as I always have been. Are you not?"

"No. Do you honestly not understand how living things are formed? I know you've coupled before."

"What does coupling have to do with these creatures?" Lucifer looked at the spawn again, perplexed.

"Brozan!" Dromos' bellow startled Lucifer again, but the steadying arm across his shoulders still held him.

A male with many short, spiky, white horns poking through his black hair trotted into Lucifer's candlelight.

"Light the hearth and lanterns."

Brozan nodded and spun away into the darkness.

Hungry-eyed spawn closed in on Lucifer as Dromos left. Lucifer fled from the disturbing creatures, following the large Lilim closely. They entered another room, small enough that his candle light touched the walls. Even smaller creatures stared at him. Some stood on shaky legs, some crawled on stubby, fat limbs. Happy burbles erupted at the sight of Dromos, but he strode on through the room. In the next room, the darkest yet, they were met with warning snarls.

Dromos snarled back, a deep, commanding sound and the warning trailed off in a submissive whimper. The Lilim making the warning backed out of the doorway, and they entered. Inside, a tiny sound stopped Lucifer. He lifted the candle, and saw a small male holding a squirming bundle. Dromos took the bundle from the smaller male, cradling it in the crook of one arm, his huge hand nearly the length of the creature. He unwrapped it and Lucifer saw a tiny body with four limbs and a large head. Perfectly formed tiny hands and feet flailed as the creature loudly screamed its displeasure at being exposed. It was uncoordinated and floppy, and looked more like an insect larva than a Lilim.

"What are the young of your kind like?"

"Angels don't change form." Lucifer insisted.

Dromos cooed at the creature as he rewrapped it and carefully passed it back to the smaller male. "Lilim do. All creatures that draw breath do."

"Not where I'm from."

"Are you toying with me?" Dromos shook his head, and patted Lucifer on the shoulder. He spoke slower than he had before. "We begin like this. This is our youngest spawn. Only a few ashfalls old. We grow through all those stages you saw on the way in here. The ones this high," he tapped Lucifer on the chest, "are nearly whelps. They'll be turned out into the lanes soon. Mazikeen said you ran the lanes with whelps."

Concern filled him regarding Fraq and the others. "What will they change into?"

"Larger versions of themselves. More powerful, more cunning, so's the hope. Fraq will find a mentor and make warrior, soon."

Lucifer eyed the crawling, toddling creatures. Could Maze's dome become similarly overrun? "Where do they come from?"

Dromos laughed so loudly that the larval Lilim began to wail again and in between soothing sounds, the smaller male growled at them. Dromos quieted and shut the door to the larval chamber. He sat on the floor, and the small creatures crawled or toddled over to him. He was soon covered with them. Lucifer stood in the corner to more easily fend them off him. The idea of these drooling, smelly things crawling on him made his skin crawl.

"I'm not sure where to start. I don't believe I've ever had to explain this to a spawn before."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a spawn."

"You certainly aren't." Dromos stared up at the ceiling, thinking it over. "Sprogs grow within a Dame's belly after a successful coupling." He made a motion over his abdomen as if it was much rounder, and Lucifer recalled the female with Izuden who had showed her deformed abdomen with such pride at the festival.

Dromos continued, "After the right time passes, she expels it and leaves it here in the nesting grounds. Dames don't have time to waste on caring for sprogs and whelps. Too busy leading the collective, you know. Spawn care is for males like me and Brozan and Squee. You need a special temper to handle these little monsters."

Lucifer nudged away a bulbous crawling thing that persisted on pawing at his foot. It snapped its teeth at his leg. "Are all of you capable of producing these creatures?"

Dromos threw his head back, laughing again, and picked up the offending sprog from the floor. It reached out and grabbed onto his face, hanging onto the hole in his cheek. Dromos pried it off and gave it a shove before speaking. It fell on another and the two began rolling around the room scratching and biting. Dromos motioned Lucifer to follow him back out into the hall.

"We're all capable of coupling as you are well aware based on what I've heard of your exploits in the Leviathan's Pit," He laughed again. Then turned serious. "Only the most special of females born _Close to Mother_ are able to make spawn. The rest of us? We do it for fun."

Light shone into the hall, drawing Lucifer forward, but the general din from the room of larger spawn increased in volume as they approached. Screams both excited and angry rang out in shrill, ear piercing tones. Dromos smiled fondly. "They broke into the food stores. In good time, too. Come watch. This batch is both bloodthirsty and clever. There are a few promising warriors in the bunch for sure."

Dromos closed a solid gate made of bone over the open doorway and Lucifer joined him. With lanterns and a large hearthfire lit, Lucifer saw that the room was as large as the Commons. The tallest spawn was holding a smaller one standing on his shoulders, as it tossed food onto the floor of the room. On the floor, one bigger spawn was guarding a large pile of food, growling and snarling at any that approached, tossing away smaller spawn that tried to sneak bits away. The small spawn that had brandished the blade at Lucifer directed a group to attack as one, and the hoarder was overthrown. It retreated, bleeding, with only a handful of food while the group dispersed with a larger portion each. Lucifer stared, horrified.

"Look at that fine potential! He'd make a mighty warrior, that one. Natural born leader the likes I haven't seen in long cycles." He shook his head. "Too bad about those horns. He'd've passed back in the colony times, but now he's on the wrong side of throwback. Too much of the Sires in him, not enough of the Mother. Probably never be accepted out of the quarter. Such a waste."

"Why would having horns matter, if he's capable?"

"It's the sum of the parts. The horns, the bone on the chin, the eyes having the slit pupils. If the beast features weren't all on his face, if he was female—either could tip the scale in his favor." He clapped Lucifer on the back, knocking him forward a step. "Eh, it is what it is, right angel?"

They watched the spawn tear into the meat, cramming their mouths full, getting dead flesh juice everywhere. "Is there not enough food for these spawn?"

"Of course there is! Look how strong they all are! Even the smallest over there, barely talking that one, and still stout."

"Why do they fight?"

"If we just gave them food, what would that teach them? Newborns are given food. Even those little sprogs still crawling work for it. We want warriors that think and fight and lead. See the one in the corner who lost his stash? He's soft. Always has been. Not soft enough to die, but not strong. That one will never be a warrior. A farmer maybe, if he survives the lanes."

A sudden feeling of stickiness on his feathers was followed by a hard pull. Lucifer yanked his wings up, far above the reach of the spawn. The little leader male smiled triumphantly before he disappeared into a tiny hole in the wall Lucifer hadn't noticed before. He reappeared on the other side of the room in a few seconds holding out his hands, which were covered with barbules trapped in the perpetual stickiness of these creatures. His hands glowed in the dimness. Lucifer roared his anger and all the spawn scattered into holes in the wall.

Dromos looked at him with immense satisfaction. He thumped his fist to his chest and then gripped Lucifer's shoulder firmly. "Now that's how you deal with spawn."

Dromos dragged him further into the room. He scooped up a large handful of dried meat sticks, and began chewing. Snarls erupted from the walls around them. Dromos laughed again. "They'll be plotting how to get this. Good training today."

Lucifer shifted side to side, turning his head trying to pinpoint where the sounds were coming from.

"Best to eat now before they recover from that shock you gave 'em."

Lucifer's stomach gurgled at the reminder he hadn't yet eaten, so he scooped up a pouch full of crystal jellydiscs and black waspcomb fungus, some of the the least noxious to eat raw. He tied the pouch to his belt, to eat slowly. Rustling overhead warned him of the attack, and he side stepped as a waist high spawn-creature hit the floor where he had been standing.

In one blink he was surrounded by clamouring, grasping spawn. He held his wings high out of their reach, and turned to Dromos for support, only to find him smiling and pressing a bag of dried flesh into his hand. Small hands snatched at the meat, and Lucifer smiled. They were beasts, but beasts motivated by food. He lowered his hand within grabbing distance, then twirled away through the gate Dromos now held open. He grinned at the howls of outrage.

They were quick and many, but he twisted and turned until at last one hand clutched at his legging. He whirled to face the creature, baring his teeth. It didn't flinch so he handed it a meat stick. Then he leapt away, leaving it to defend its prize. When they were too slow for too long, he mimicked taking a bite amidst screams and growls. It was almost fun until the little beasts began throwing clods of mud and rock.

"Begone!" he shouted, putting power behind the word. The spawn scattered again, leaving Lucifer with Dromos. He stood, panting, and now that the excitement had died down, exhausted and the familiar ache squeezing at his temples.

"You are a natural with spawn, living-angel. You'll do well in the nest, but back to your bedroll with a sleeping draught for now."

Lucifer grimaced at being told what to do, even though he'd planned on heading to his bedroll on his own. Dromos shrugged. "Stay if you'd rather. The spawn will be back soon enough."

Lucifer went.


	31. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion 15 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**15/21**

* * *

Being underground in the nest conjured memories of the binding cord and the cold and dark and hunger of the dungeon. Without Maze in the sleeping quarters—even with the lantern lit—the walls pressed in on him.

The need to forget clawed at his mind. He needed more lethe. Trying to force his memories, the effort to remember, competed with the yearning for the comfort of forgetting. The certainty Maze would return each wind-rise helped him hold on. Dromos supplied sleeping draughts offering brief escape, but it never lasted long.

Restless energy and cravings overwhelmed him and drove him into the halls each ashfall. The constant wailing and screeching of the spawn and sprogs grated on his nerves, but it drowned out the turmoil in his head.

Lucifer stood, relaxing against the wall, and watched the spawn at play. They rushed and wrestled their nest minder to the ground and crawled all over him like feasting carnivores. The nest-minder stood up, howling, and sent the little scamps screeching in all directions. And then the cycle started all over again.

They were vicious little creatures, interesting to observe, as likely to draw blood as they were to lick each other's wounds. The nest-minders played along, but didn't intervene in the skirmishes between them, choosing instead to sit back and let the little monsters figure things out on their own.

The little creatures fought, and threw stones, played strange games in groups against each other, always with a good dose of conflict mixed in. Aside from a few side pranks, Lucifer couldn't remember a time when he'd been free to play with his siblings like that. He and his siblings had always been tightly controlled, there were commandments to obey, praises to be sung.

He watched one in particular. The small male with a bone-like chin and little swirly horns on his head. The leader of the food attack earlier. He was an energetic little monster. The others seemed to rally around him as he squealed out orders in his high-pitched voice and directed them where to go, how they should fight.

Lucifer contemplated the things Dromos told him. About these small creatures growing into bigger ones; that all Lilim went through a similarly inscrutable process.

It was such a waste of time and energy. Entertaining as they were, these creatures needed special care and feeding, they didn't know anything, they were disgustingly sticky and loud. For once, he appreciated his father's efficiency for making him and his siblings fully functional beings from the start.

"Lucifer?"

He stood quickly, surprised to see Izuden in this place. "What are you doing here?" They asked in unison.

He brushed his hand over his tunic, how could he answer without—

Izuden placed a hand on his shoulder. "Did Mazikeen bring you here? I heard about what transpired with the Soverain. This is a good thing, Lucifer, I always knew you would thrive with proper nest care. Why don't you interact with the spawn, I'm sure if you attempted—"

"I'm not here as one of the spawns," he corrected her, but she already wasn't listening. Her golden colored eyes were fixed on the spawn racing around in circles. One spawn in particular. The one with the pointy swirly horns. Very much like a small version of the horns growing from her own head, even matching the unusual mauve and gold coloring.

"You're a dame," he worked out slowly, it had never occurred to him to wonder what was special about Izuden other than the color of her eyes. "Have you made one of these things yet?"

She turned and blinked. "Made? Oh, birthed. Yes. One. So far. I will birth many more."

"That little one is cunning. Dromos told me if only he had fewer interesting features, he may have had a chance of being a great leader."

Izuden's expression turned fierce. "That spawn was formed with the most favored male warrior of Soverain Melipath's collective. He will be a great warrior just like his sire."

"Varun?" Lucifer asked, remembering the boney chin of the male who had accompanied Maze on their journey to Anilith's Collective. "You did a lot of coupling with Varun on the journey, didn't you?"

"We made a fertile match," Izuden agreed proudly.

The little spawn had both Izuden and Varun's features. Lucifer stared. "Does it take much coupling to form one of these?"

"Just once if its done right."

He wondered what the 'right' procedure was and if there were ways to avoid it. He scanned the rest of the spawn of the chamber, noting their mixtures of features. There were none so strongly marked as the little horned one. But the other spawn didn't seem as aware of the problems that arose with that as adult Lilim were.

Lucifer looked back at Izuden, her golden eyes fixed on his own, and he felt a tightening in his gut. Golden eyes shining in the darkness, in the _shadow_. He felt the surge of need well up in him at the thought. The memory of the powder, the taste, the darkness…

"Lucifer?" Someone touched his arm and he flinched away.

He could fight this. Breathe through it. He clenched his fist against the sudden shivers coursing through him.

Izuden's gold eyes shown through the haze, and the room spun around him as the floor tilted and he stumbled to the side, falling on his hip.

"Oh, oh no," he heard Izuden say as though she were far away, "Dromos!"

A chill spread over him, sudden and deep as though his bones had turned to ice. The shadow. The shadow was upon him and he couldn't move and he couldn't breathe.

On the edge of his awareness he felt someone else near, large hands gripping his arms, holding on, a deep voice speaking in words he couldn't comprehend. The spell he was under faded in degrees, first came physical awareness that he was on the floor, not restrained, then mental, and the confusion that came with it. Where was he? Exactly where he'd been before. It was disorienting because he knew time had passed, but he didn't know how much, and he couldn't remember anything past the sudden desire and need for the lethe. Dromos knelt at his side, his face hovering close to his. "Back with us, angel?"

"I left?" Lucifer said. Shivers continued to wreak havoc on his coordination. Dromos helped him sit up. He was in the same room as earlier, but the spawn had been removed. Izuden chewed at one of her clawed fingernails, staring at him with her golden eyes. Eyes very much like the faint colour he'd seen staring at him from the shadow-Lilim.

Her eyes. The shadow-Lilim's eyes… his heart pounded. The desire for more of the lethe clawed within and he pushed it down. Izuden crouched beside him, her golden eyes—he grasped her wrist.

"Was it you?" He asked.

He didn't want it to be her. Not Izuden. The betrayal stabbed deep. After everything they'd been through, he trusted her.

Izuden yelped and tried to pull away, but he held tight and released his wings, reaching for the divinity within. Dromos stepped forward to intervene, but Lucifer flared his wings forward, threatening.

"_You will not interfere_," he commanded, the divinity coursing through him infused his voice, and Dromos took an involuntary step back.

Izuden cowered in his grasp, trying to look away, but Lucifer held her gaze, she couldn't break it. His feathers grew brighter as he focused, bringing light to secrets and hidden motivations. They blazed and went dark.

"It wasn't you." He released her and sat down, exhausted from the use of his divinity while already weakened. His head pounded and the ache triggered his anger. He didn't have time for the slow-thinking that came with it.

"Wasn't me what? What do you think I did?" Izuden pulled away, stepping back until she bumped into Dromos. The giant Lilim placed a protective hand on her shoulder and guided her behind him.

"The shadow-Lilim, she had power. She used it on me, and she had golden eyes. But it wasn't you,"

"My eyes? But—" Izuden started and Dromos took over. "All the dames have eyes of gold."

"Dames, the females of the Spire?" Lucifer asked, and thinking back, what little he'd seen of the inhabitants of the Spire, it was true. "Do only dames posess golden eyes?"

"Yes, that is how we know which ones are special," Dromos answered. "Settle down, angel."

The implications of that—he got up and tried to push past, but Dromos blocked the exit with his bulk.

"I need Maze." Lucifer would fight Dromos if had to, despite his current weakness. He sized up the space between them and shifted his weight in preparation. He would try regardless.

"She's not here, angel." Dromos kept his voice slow, the way Lucifer had heard him speaking to the spawn.

He did not have the patience for this, and Maze might not have the time. He needed to find her and warn her the Spire was involved. "Maze is in danger."

"No more than she was a few flakes of ash ago."

"Where are my sandals?" he demanded. Bare feet had been welcome after waking up and while moving around the compound, but to go outside he knew well enough that he'd need hard foot coverings.

"Calm, calm. Mazikeen stated, explicitly, that I am to ensure your safety while in our care here and to not allow you to leave."

Was he a prisoner after all? That only made Lucifer all the more determined to battle his way out. _She wouldn't_. His hand shook as he drew his fingers through his hair. Why couldn't he focus. There were too many directions pulling on him, Maze, lethe, the shadow-Lilim with golden eyes, being trapped.

"You're upset," Dromos took a step forward, and Lucifer took a cautionary step away. The Lilim spread out his arms, palms up, non-threatening. "You need Mazikeen, and she's not here. You worry for her."

Did Dromos really understand? "Yes, she needs to be warned." Lucifer watched Dromos carefully, wary of manipulation.

"Yes, I will send Squee to find her as soon as I know what to tell him. What do we need to warn Mazikeen of?"

"The golden eyes," Lucifer nearly yelled. Were none of them listening? "The shadow who gave me lethe had golden eyes like Izuden. The Spire was in on this. Maze thinks she is looking for a lethe dealer, but she's going after the Spire and she needs to know." He focused on Izuden standing behind Dromos. "You're from the Spire. Did you know?" Lucifer started stalking toward her and Dromos extended his enormous arm to block his way.

Dromos turned to address Izuden. "Did you? It will be best for everyone if you tell us now."

"I didn't know," Izuden shook her head as she spoke, "I've only had the one sprog, not even a female. I'm no one's favorite in the Spire. No one confides in me. I swear."

Lucifer believed her.

Izuden stepped forward. "I must return. I will try and listen for news. If there is anything of value I learn, I will bring it to you," she promised.

Lucifer watched her leave. "Dromos, you must let me go find Maze, she needs me."

"Not like this, she doesn't," Dromos said bluntly.

Lucifer felt his resolve begin to erode into doubt. Dromos was correct, he caused all this. He was in no condition to be useful to Maze.

With a roar, Dromos called for Squee, and moments later the little male sprinted into the room. "Inform Mazikeen that the Spire was involved and to return to the nest as soon as possible."

Squee went running.

"See, angel, Mazikeen will be warned. Squee is the best at finding lost whelps, he can just as easily locate a daughter of Lilith. Now will you settle?"

Could he? The frozen feeling remained in his bones, his hands still shook. There was something like a buzzing noise in his head that would not stop, and he needed it to stop and he knew Lethe was the only thing that could help him.

"I need—something," he said to Dromos, almost desperately. The murky nature of his thoughts hit him again, a reminder that he wasn't okay. He wasn't in any condition to help Mazikeen.

"What do you need?" the Lilim asked, voice serene.

That was part of the problem. Lucifer didn't know the answer to that. He needed Maze to be safe. He needed lethe, but that wasn't an option. He needed to escape. Not just the nest or the collective or this realm, but from everything.

But even more, he needed to recover so he could be assist Mazikeen. He didn't want to sit aside and wait for her to solve this for him. He wanted to be involved. He wanted to find the shadow Lilim and demand answers.

He looked at Dromos. "I need to prepare for Mazikeen's return."

The big Lilim grinned. "That I can help you with," he patted Lucifer on the back. "Hot purple jellydisc gumbo will be a start. Come with me to the kitchen or would you prefer I bring it to your sleeping room?"

"Kitchen," Lucier chose. Being alone right now was not a good idea. "Purple jellydisc? Is there anything else?"

Dromos laughed. "Who has been preparing meals for you?"

"Maze prepares food, and she taught me how to prepare it for myself."

Dromos raised his eyebrows, and then laughed uproariously, almost to the point of falling over. "Mazikeen taught you to cook? Oh. No wonder you're favourite food is scalding ooze porridge. That's the only thing I've ever known Mazikeen not to bungle."

"I like her food," he said, ready to defend Maze's honor.

"I'm sure you do, but this is gumbo. If Maze's skills are all you know, you're in for a treat."

Dromos led him down a hall, through another large chamber, and into a hot furnace. "This was our mid-ash break meal." He scooped a giant spoon of a slimy chunky substance into a bowl and passed it over, then served himself a bowl as well. He motioned Lucifer out to the other room and sat on the ground.

Lucifer inspected the substance first, it wasn't anything he was familiar with. He wasn't even sure how to eat it until Dromos held his own bowl up to his mouth and tilted it up, slurping in a big mouthful. So, Lucifer did the same. The flavour took a moment to get used to, but he found himself enjoying the taste after the first few mouthfuls.

"Mazikeen is a formidable warrior, there's no need to be so concerned."

"I should be at her side." he ate as much of the meal as his attention would allow. It was impossible to settle the conflict inside. "How long will it take Squee to find Maze?"

"As long as it takes," Dromos answered unhelpfully. He collected Lucifer's bowl, seeing the rest of the food remained untouched. "Perhaps a distraction is what you need?"

"I don't need a distraction." Lucifer winced as the pounding in his head redoubled.

Dromos drummed his fingers on the table top. "You need a sleeping draught."

Lucifer shook his head. The motion set a wave of pain in motion and he gripped his head with both hands.

"Sleep. You're in pain. Maze will return soon," Dromos spoke very slowly.

The words barely made sense, but he finally parsed them and nodded. He drank the potion and lay down where he sat. Somewhere in the swirling mess in his mind, Lucifer knew he was being talked down to and hated it, but sleep pulled him under.


	32. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion 16 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**16/21**

* * *

His sleep was uncomfortable and disturbed with memories of events he suspected were real but he had no conscious memory of; lounging by a hearth, a sense of yearning that he couldn't conquer. The yearning stayed with him even after waking. Lucifer stirred, finally warm and not alone. Maze had returned and she lay pressed against him, her arm holding him close. He'd been worried Dromos had been humoring him. But here she was.

"Are you with me, Lucifer?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"You're safe?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Maze narrowed her eyes. "Is that all this is? Squee said there was something wrong with you. Did you lie to him to make me return?"

"_I do not lie._ I went back. Sleep-wandering—but I wasn't asleep. I had a waking sleep-wandering, memories that seemed lost," he explained quickly. "Maze, did you know Lilim start as larva?"

"The sprogs?" she asked sitting up. Lucifer remained laying down.

"Were you once one of those creatures?"

Lucifer felt the weight of her gaze on him. "Is it happening now?" she asked. "The sleep-wandering while awake?" She shook her head. "You need more rest."

"What? No. Izuden was here, watching the spawn. For real."

"Lucifer, what are you on about?"

"Izuden has golden eyes. The dames are the only Lilim with golden eyes. I didn't know. I saw her eyes and remembered something about the lethe—golden eyes in shadow. All her other features were obscured, but I saw gold. Maze, the shadow-Lilim is from the Spire. You're in danger. They have power over—."

Maze gripped his hand, demanding his attention. "Lucifer, slow down. No one has that kind of power over me."

He drew in a deep breath, trying to sound calm enough to avoid her insisting he needed more sleep. He sat up, still focusing on presenting a calm front. "Your vow to Anilith gives them that power. I've seen what she can do to you."

"It's going to be okay, Lucifer. You've warned me. I'll be careful. The throwbacks gave me a name. Rillam. Do you remember her?"

_Marketplace, Green hair, a forked tongue that could..._ "Yes."

"Where did you first meet her?"

He prodded at the memories being called forth. "We coupled. A lot. I knew her before that. Coins." He sat straighter and smiled. "She bought your craft items, but then she taught me I could use my own talents to gain coins as well."

"I'm searching for her."

"Why? Rillam had nothing to do with it. I trust her."

Maze scowled and a rumble set up in her chest. "You shouldn't. She's the cause of this." Her hand waved over him.

"How?"

"The throwbacks in the Pit were unimpressed with how she manipulated you away from them."

"She wouldn't do that."

"Lucifer, you think you know how things work here. You don't. I made a mistake. I thought it would suffice to let you learn on your own, the way our whelps do, and you seemed to be doing fine. But whelps know our ways and are taught what to avoid before being released from the nest. I never prepared you for any of that. It's my fault that they were able to get to you. It won't happen again, but I need you to think. Rillam took you somewhere else. I need to know where."

Lucifer closed his eyes. He remembered the Leviathan's Pit well, but there were other memories that didn't fit together with what he remembered of that place. "Does the Leviathan's Pit have private areas?" he asked. He didn't thought so, but...

"No. It's all open like most domes are."

The familiar headache that came along with pushing his memories started to throb behind his temples. "I think there were rooms. I see tusks and spears and—" He stopped glanced at Maze's face. "I liked it. I wanted it."

"You desired lethe?"

"I liked how it made me feel." He swallowed hard. "I wanted it."

"That's the lethe talking. It alters your senses. It makes you want more."

"No one made me do anything. I asked for more, and that's what they gave me."

Maze's jaw muscles clenched. "I'm not convinced you know the difference."

"The difference between what?"

"That's the problem, Lucifer. Come on. You need to eat."

"I don't remember. I'm trying, Maze—"

Maze's expression softened as she took his hand, but she didn't explain what she meant.

He ate and he slept, and when Maze left to search for Rillam, Lucifer wandered the halls. He watched the spawn at play, sometimes he taunted the vile little things by dangling meat sticks out for them. Watching them leap and scurry for the promised prize was a distraction, however brief it was. Dromos seemed to consider it his personal mission to ensure Lucifer had plenty to eat. The larger Lilim would take him to the large kitchen, explain the uses of certain fungus and how they should be cooked.

Maze returned each windrise, each time with new questions. Apparently Rillam was proving to be more of a challenge to find than Maze had expected. She wanted to know how he met her, what items she sold in her stall, other Lilim he knew who associated with her. He had very few answers.

Every time Maze left, he stayed behind. Was Izuden correct in her assumptions of him being left to the nest? Five sleeps, and still Maze came back with no more than she left with. But at least she continued coming back.

"I know where she is now. If the winds hadn't risen early, I would have had her."

"Take me with you, then."

"I can move faster alone.

"You can't leave me here with these spawn creatures indefinitely."

"No, never," Maze smiled, but only briefly. "Stay behind one more time."

One more time was all it took.

"Lucifer!"

Lucifer jumped up at the sound of Maze's voice, A scuffle accompanied her, and he rushed into the hall with Dromos close on his heels.

Maze, decked out in all her armour, ash smudged on her shoulders and hood, dragged along a struggling female Lilim behind her.

"Rillam?" Lucifer asked.

The Lilim vendor saw him and her eyes went wide with shock. "Lucifer! They told me you'd been addled, that you wandered into the winds and were lost." Despite Maze dragging her along, Rillam attempted to drop to her knees. "Angel—Lucifer—you know me. I was good to you. Made you feel good, yes? Stop this," she pleaded.

Memories flashed rapidly in Lucifer's mind. His first successful trade. Letting her touch his naked body in exchange for the full value of his items. Following her to...the memories blurred here. He remembered standing in front of a dome with Rillam, but what dome? The memories were fragmented and made no sense. There were columns with genitalia, but there also weren't. Hunting scenes and blank walls. He braced himself against the table.

Maze shoved Rillam at Dromos, "Find a place for this," she ordered.

Dromos caught the scrambling figure tossed his way and wrapped his giant hand around her upper arm. "What am I supposed to do with it?" Dromos asked.

"We need a place to interrogate her."

"This is a nest, not a dungeon..." Dromos grumbled but headed on his way, prisoner in tow.

Lucifer remembered coupling and the things her forked tongue could do, but he also remembered flying with Rillam by his side and pain that led to more pleasure than he thought possible.

Maze touched his shoulder. "Go, wait in our chamber for me, rest. I'll update you as soon as I'm done talking to Rillam."

"I'm coming with you," he insisted, blinking the cooking room back into focus. He would have time later to sort the memories into sense.

"You're up for this?"

"Yes." How could she think he wasn't?

Maze seemed to know where Dromos stashed the prisoner. They found him sitting in front of a small chamber.

Dromos grumbled and stood up as they got near. "So much screaming you'd think she were a sprog herself."

Maze laughed as Dromos moved aside to let them in. "Want me to stick around?"

"Better that you don't." Mazikeen smiled, teeth gleaming as she eyed Rillam. She paced around the frightened vendor. Lucifer listened to Dromos' heavy footsteps recede down the hall.

Rillam cowered as Maze moved closer. "If it's the coin you want—I'll get it for you. All of it. I kept track." Rillam sputtered, voice quick and high.

Lucifer held back near the wall, intent on watching Maze work. She growled deep in her throat and stepped up to Rillam. "What coin?"

"Yes, yes, it is all yours. All of it. The angel belongs to you, it is your right to compensation. Lots of coin. They paid well to have me lure the angel to them."

It was all for coin? To introduce him to the Leviathan's Pit? To take him away from the Pit? He knew coin could be used to better things for Maze, but to betray? Rillam ignored him as she pleaded with Maze. He thought she was his friend. He _trusted_ her, and she _used_ him. He wasn't impressed with their ridiculous system of exchange, especially now that he knew the Lilim valued it enough to betray. Maze, at least, seemed unimpressed by Rillam's offer.

"Where did you take me?" he asked. Memories teased a mix of pain and pleasure. Bites and soothing touches by a warm hearth and the ever present release that came with licking the powdered substance off of someone's fingertip, but the face remained a blur. "The Leviathan's Pit doesn't deal in pain or lethe. But the other place did, didn't it?"

Rillam addressed only Maze. "I only gave him what he wanted." She wouldn't even look Lucifer's way. "I wasn't involved in what happened after."

Maze grabbed Rillam by the throat. "You knew what they were going to do?"

"We did nothing the angel didn't ask for, everyone knows what Lania's Den is for."

"That's where you took him?" The dark look in Mazikeen's eyes told him she recognised the name of the place. "Did you inform Lucifer what it was for," Maze snarled. "Who forced the lethe on him?"

Lucifer bit back a retort. He wasn't forced. He remembered wanting it, asking for more. He shook his head to clear the memories.

"Not me. Not Lania." Rillam clawed at Maze's hand on her throat, her voice strained. "Lania is careful. We took good care of him. He never said you would disapprove. We know he is yours. Just enough lethe for fun, not to damage. Someone else! No one knows."

"What do you know of a dame going there?"

Rillam nearly laughed. "A dame? Never. None would dare go near the lethe."

"I don't believe you. All of you let his happen."

"Didn't mean to lose control. Don't know how he got too much! When he was lost we looked. Looked until we were ash-choked. No one wanted to damage the angel. I swear!"

Maze threw her to the ground and pressed her knee against her sternum. Rillim gasped, squirming under the pressure. "Lucifer is under my protection. Anyone who dares hurt him, answers to me."

Rillam keened as Maze increased her pressure. Her tone was pleading, trying to placate. "He wanted it. Begged for more, more, more. How were we to know angels can't—"

Lucifer felt a mix of emotions. Shame for his ignorance, and anger at how easily he'd been manipulated. Maze was right. He really didn't know anything of this world, did he? His presence mattered so little that Rillam barely acknowledged his presence and Maze was preoccupied with asserting her dominance.

He leaned in close again, gripped Rillam's face to force her to look at him. "Why did you bring me there?"

"Lania," Rillam choked out. "Lania paid me, told me to bring the angel."

Maze leaned forward and grabbed Rillam by the throat. The Lilim choked and gasped for air, struggling weakly.

Lucifer pulled Maze off before she could end the life of the Lilim beneath her. "Maze, enough."

"It's no more than what they did to you. Do you remember the bruises around your neck when Squee found you?"

He didn't. But he placed himself between Maze and Rillam, who was still gasping for air on the ground. Rillam's words only brought more confusion. Had they truly looked for him? From her words and refusal to speak to him, not Maze, he knew she thought little of him. Beast they called him. What if it was his own nature that betrayed him?

Maze stalked out. Lucifer followed close behind She stalked down the halls until she found Dromos. "Keep Rillam here. I'll be back for her."

"What am I supposed to do with her?"

"Think of something." She growled and stalked off again.

Lucifer frowned and had to run to catch up. "Maze." He grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop. "You know that name, Lania. Why?"

"Lania was among the ones who took you before. I shouldn't have stopped at a warning. How dare she defy me and take you again."

Why had Lania wanted him enough to pay Rillam to bring him? He stopped walking as the answer slammed into place. _Coin_. The clink of coin, the constant parade of Lilim wanting to couple with him as he lay exhausted and drunk and wanting to go home, and waking up discarded with the trash all flashed through his mind. He needed coin for… the annoying yet familiar headache spiked behind his eyes again. He remembered wanting what they gave him this time. Liking it.

He shoved the thoughts away, and jogged to catch up to Maze. His stomach felt ill. He'd felt _safe_. It couldn't all be a lie. He caught's Maze's shoulder, made her look at him, as he said, "No one took me. No one made me do anything I didn't want to do."

"How would you know?" she argued. "You can't even remember most of it. Why are you so intent on refusing to acknowledge what really happened?"

He looked at her squarely. "I had to have known. If I didn't, why did I keep going back?"


	33. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion 17 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**17/21**

* * *

Mazikeen needed to find Lania.

It hurt to watch Lucifer like this. It was a vast improvement from before when she'd feared he wouldn't recover at all, but as much as he tried to hide it, she knew he was still suffering. Even in sleep the stress lines around his eyes were apparent. His insistence that no one had hurt him angered her. How could he say such a thing when it was obvious to everyone other than him,that he'd been manipulated and abused?

After Lucifer's breathing evened out and his grip on her went slack, Mazikeen slipped out of the sleeping quarters. She wasn't finished with Rillam. Lania dealt in a particular type of coupling experience, but she, more than any Lilim, knew the dangers of lethe. It was lethe that had her expelled from the Spire, that turned her eyes from gold to yellow and ensured she would never carry another sprog to birthing. Everything Lania had, she'd lost to the lethe. It had been Lania who took advantage of Lucifer so many winds back. When she delivered her message about leaving Lucifer alone, Maze hadn't suspected the former dame of being a current user. She hadn't thought—why hadn't she thought?—that Lucifer had been given lethe at the time.

Dromos awaited her. This wasn't something she wanted Lucifer to witness. A proper interrogation was more than she wanted to expose him to. He'd interfered with her _gentle_ questioning. She wouldn't risk making him sleep wander, or worse go back to sleep wandering while awake. The draught she'd given him would keep him safely out of the way.

It didn't take long. Rillam showed her true cowardice long before Mazikeen was done torturing her. She knew all that Lucifer should have remembered of Lania, and much more besides. Lania existed on borrowed time.

Mazikeen cleaned herself thoroughly before she rejoined Lucifer. She lay down beside him and draped her arm across his stomach.

The room was dark when she woke, the candle had burnt itself out, and her arm remained as it had been, draped over him, but now his hand rested over hers, a finger slowly moving in shapes over the back of her hand.

"Lucifer?" Maze asked, she knew he was awake, his eyes were open and staring up at nothing. He may be impaired by the darkness but she wasn't.

She started to pull away so she could light the candle, but Lucifer closed his fingers around hers.

"Look up." he said, and waited for her to settle.

She looked, uncertain what he was trying to draw her attention to. And then she saw it, the small glowing spots on the ceiling. "Are you watching the glow worms?"

"That's what they are?" he asked. "Look at them Maze, like thousands of points of light. They're feasting on the moss growing up there."

"I'll get someone to clear that out later."

"Don't do that."

"You want to sleep in a chamber invested with maggots?"

"When you put it that way..." He was quiet for a moment, and then added in a voice so quiet she barely heard. "They look like stars, Maze."

He'd talked about stars before, it wasn't anything she understood, but the way he spoke of them made her wish she did. "You miss those things— stars?"

This time he didn't answer. he let his hand drop from hers and sat up, reaching blindly in the dark for the candle to light. She studied him closely, his hands were steadier and his eyes looked brighter. "I'm coming with you to find Lania."

"Oh really?" Maze reached out and grabbed his hand, held his fingers. Warm and steady. Lucifer pulled away. "I'm fine."

She wanted that to be true.

"What will happen to the worms?"

"One of the males will come clean up and set a torch to them. Get dressed, I have something to show you."

With the candle lit he stretched to swipe one of the small wiggling—slimy—creatures on the ceiling into his hand to examine more closely. Each segment of its body had a single glowing dot.

The spawn liked to find the critters and squish them, rub the jelly on the walls and each other and laugh at the nasty smell it produced. What did Lucifer think of them, was he disgusted? His curiosity for new things fascinated her.

"Do they do anything other than light up?"

Maze reached over to scoop the worm off his hand and flick it away, but he dodged and held his arm out of reach.

"Yeah. They eat moss. And leave slime all over everything."

He seemed reluctant, but reached up and stuck the little worm back where he'd plucked it from. "Why do they glow?"

"I don't know. Get dressed."

He did. Choosing a chiton and leggings and his belt. It didn't escape her notice that he ignored the sandals, but they weren't going outside. If he wanted bare feet, she didn't care, at least he was dressed.

"It has to have a reason," he continued, stuck on the subject now as she led him toward the training rooms. "Everything has a purpose, Maze."

"Easier for the spiders to find and eat them?"

"Why would they be created like that just to be eaten?"

"Maybe it's not for them. Its for the spiders."

Lucifer made a face. Obviously he wasn't satisfied with that either. No matter. They were almost where she wanted to take them now.

Screaming and yelping came from the large room ahead, and Maze held back the door covering for Lucifer to enter. She gazed out at the clawing, screeching hoard of spawn with a sense of pride. This batch were scrappers. There were three heaps of them wrestling and biting and scratching, each trying to fight their way up to the top of their pile. Dromos wandered the room, observing the play.

A little one was tossed to the side, where it took big gulps of breath, nearly crying. It looked over at Dromos and he nudged it with his foot. The little spawn growled and jumped back in to scratch and bite again.

"What is this? Aren't you worried they'll get hurt?" Lucifer asked, voice quiet and tense.

"What? No, why would anyone be worried. It's natural. Look at them learning how to fight. Awesome isn't it?" She grinned.

"This is how you teach them?" Lucifer asked, voice low.

"How else would they learn?"

He shrugged, expression closed off. Maze frowned at him and wondered what different experiences he might have.

"Come and see this," she took his hand, tugging him across the room and through another door. This room was empty but for various weapons hung on the walls.

"You know what these are?"

Lucifer stared at her, eyes narrowed. "Swords. Whips. Spears. I know what weapons are."

He was snippy. She could work with that. It made what she wanted to do next easier. "You know how to use them?"

"Yes."

She grabbed a blunt staff off the wall, tossed it his way. Lucifer caught it one handed, spun it slowly.

"You know how to use that?"

He set his feet, twirled it in a complicated set of swings, and bared his teeth at her. "Do you?"

She chose a staff for herself, faced Lucifer, and swung.

He blocked the hit, and backed away. He set the staff beside him, more serious now. "What are you doing?"

"I want to know if you can defend yourself. Lania might take offense at being questioned. If you come with me, I want to make sure you're ready."

He simply stared. "Lania is the threat. What does that have to do with fighting each other?"

Maze rolled her eyes and swung her staff in a fast arc, whacking him on the hip. He stood steady, glaring, but didn't raise his staff toward her.

"Afraid I'll win?"

Lucifer snorted a half laugh. But finally, he raised his staff.

Maze grinned. "I'll take it easy on you," she offered. "You are still recovering, after all."

And there was the fire she was waiting for. Lucifer's eyes flashed red and he advanced, the staff spinning through the air. Maze ducked as it narrowly missed her head, and rolled as she swept out at his feet. The air in the room rushed as his wings burst into being and he jumped.

The wings acted as extra balance, and Maze was enthralled by the flow of his movements. Other than the first swing at her head, he didn't made another direct attack, rather blocking her attempts, or using her power against her by setting her off balance with complementary rather than offensive movements.

He fought strong for a while. Maze's breathed hard herself by the time his movements started to become strained. She fought on, and Lucifer continued, too.

A lucky hit caught his shin before he could round her staff and direct it away. A jab to the ribs that he was too slow to dodge followed.

Maze lowered her staff. Lucifer mirrored her. It took effort not to grin. His style was strange, she wasn't impressed that he made no direct attacks, but he was far more skilled than she'd expected. "Let's take a break."

He rolled his shoulders, tucking the wings back out of existence. He eyed her defiantly but kept quiet.

Perhaps he was more tired than she suspected. No argument, no bargaining, no threats? If he was a whelp he would have—but he wasn't a whelp. He wasn't Lilim. She had to continuously remind herself not to judge him by Lilim standards.

First, some food. She led him back through the spawn mayhem—only a few were still actively wrestling, the rest having crawled off into corners to nap in piles—down the hall to the kitchen. It was empty.

She grabbed a bowl of already prepared stew for Lucifer and a well proportioned slice of meat for herself. "Next ashfall we'll track Lania and make her pay."

He tilted the bowl back and forth, watching the porridge slide from side to the other. "What for? Everything Rillam said—I don't think I was there against my will."

"That's what lethe does. Supplying it to you at all is an offense to both of us."

He kept fidgeting with the bowl, his shoulders hunched. "What if I still want it?"

She recognized shame and hoped to dissipate it. "How could you not? It's lethe. That's why it's an attack, Lucifer. They knew what lethe does and knew that you didn't. They gave it to you, knowing it destroys the will, knowing it makes you crave it, knowing that it might damage your mind forever."

His fists clenched and his eyes flared. "I was manipulated and used, so they could hurt you?

Mazikeen nodded glad that he finally understood. "Yes, and we'll make them pay. Eat. Rest for one more ashfall."

"I've been sitting around long enough. We'll find Lania this ashfall, I'm well enough to take care of myself."

Maze grinned. That was the defiance she'd been hoping for. "So be it."

The worms were still feasting on the moss on the ceiling of their chamber when they returned, Maze eyed them with disdain as she chose what she wanted Lucifer to wear: his best clothing, the sleeveless vest and leggings she and Izuden had picked out for him.

"Are we going to be fighting?"

"Possibly."

"Shouldn't I wear something more suited to fighting?" he said, waving at the looser chiton and leggings he already wore.

"You wear this," Maze said pushing his best made clothes at him, "and everyone will look at you with respect. Clothes mark your rank in society."

"Why?"

"It's the way things are."

He stopped questioning and began changing into the clothes she'd set out. He finished getting dressed and, as usual, Maze inspected his attire after. She adjusted the vest and smoothed out his belt. "Sit down, I'll outline your eyes for you."

He sat and looked up at the glow worms on the ceiling as she carefully drew around his eyes, tapering off to a line at the side. And then she passed the kohl to him. "Do mine?"

He held the stick in his hand, his hands were steadier than they'd been since waking up in this place, and she hoped he would be able to do an adequate job of it. He'd done her eyes before as practice, but not for any purpose like this.

When he was done he sat back and looked at his work.

"How is it?" Maze asked.

Just by the way he was studying her she knew he'd done a good job. He was looking for imperfections, and if he had to look that hard, she was sure it was fine.

"Sandals," she reminded him, and watched as he tied. He didn't protest when she checked. How was she to know what skills had been affected by the lethe overdose he'd suffered? There could be fighting, she didn't want to take any chances. They were done perfectly. "Don't forget your cloak."

Lucifer gave her a self-satisfied look and waved her on. They walked side by side, winding their way through the network of mostly level caverns until reaching a heavy metal door. "The offspring are the greatest treasure of the Spire," Maze stopped to explain.

Lucifer frowned, stepped past her and placed his hand on the door. "Maze," his wings emerged and flexed up against his back. "All this time. You brought me here? Left me here?"

Mazikeen put her hand on his arm, but he shrugged it off. "The dames don't come in here—"

"Izuden does."

"The Spire is the most defensible structure within the stronghold. In case of an attack, the dames and the spawn are protected above all else." Maze watched his face closely, trying to interpret his frown. Did he understand she would never allow anyone to confine him like that, ever again? "What they did to you in the dungeon is deep below here. It's a different section of caverns cut off from the Nest."

"Where does this door lead?"

"Into the Spire."

"There's only the one way in and out?"

"No. There is an escape route should the stronghold be taken by enemies. But that's not a way open to us. Pull up your cloak."

He glared, but he pulled it up, tugging the hood low over his face. She lifted the heavy bar and stepped out into the spire. Lucifer made his wings disappear. He sighed dramatically and stepped into the hall behind her. She pulled the door closed behind her and thumped the drum beside the door to let the nest minders know to come bar the door.

Lucifer fell in behind her without a sound when she began walking. She stopped and so did he. "Lucifer?" He didn't respond. Turning back, she saw he was standing head down, drawn into himself to look non-threatening, but the glow of his eyes lit the shadow under the hood. She gritted her teeth. They were not doing this again. She regretted ever telling him to keep his head down.

She tugged the hood down, and he looked away, closing his eyes to block the glow. "Come walk with me. Have you seen the carvings? The fire went out and he met her gaze with wide eyes. She nodded and threaded her arm through hers, as dames often did with their chosen males. He strode beside her, and while she could feel the tension in him, he gazed at the surroundings with wonder. She was done playing the game of proper Lilim. She was Mazikeen, hunter, warrior, Eldest—she would hold her head high and insist Lucifer to do the same. She would never have him show submission to Lilim again. _Never._

She steered him toward the weapons storage. Nodded to the warrior guarding the door. No one questioned her presence. Various weapons lined the walls. It was an impressive collection. One she had helped amass. "Sword or staff?"

He examined the selection, hand trailing over the various styles, resting finally on a pointed staff. "This will do."

Mazikeen choose a sword with a thick sturdy blade.

They made it outside without incident, not that she'd expected one. The dames occupied an area of the Spire separated from the nest by store rooms and guard barracks. Mazikeen took Lucifer through the side entrance used by servants and other lower ranked Lilim, and the guard snoring near the door door didn't twitch as they exited.

"Where do we find Lania?"

"In her Den. It's a long walk. Come on."

"You know Lania isn't the shadow Lilim."

"Lania is...special. She used to be a dame. Lethe used to be more common. If you only take a small amount, you believe something you want to be real is real, and it deadens pain."

He hummed but said nothing.

"Taking too much leaves you vulnerable. Heightened sensitivity to pain, disorientation, damage to your mind, damage to your body." She glanced at him, but he'd pulled his hood up again so she couldn't see his face. "It's bad enough for the average Lilim. When a dame takes even a little Lethe, she loses the ability to make sprogs. Her eyes turn yellow. She's marked forever as a failure to be shunned. Lania _used_ to be a dame, do you understand?"

"She uses it?"

"Yes. Lethe is dangerous. It's one of the only things Lilim everywhere agree on. Think how easy it could be to poison an entire spire if you had a large enough supply." She turned again to avoid the busy marketplace.

"It doesn't seem that hard to obtain." Lucifer's tone dripped with disdain.

"You were targeted. If I knew you were on lethe, I would have done more to stop you."

"I would have resisted."

"It would have been worth it."


	34. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion 18 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**18/21**

* * *

Lucifer recognized the lanes as they drew near the dungeon. This area was familiar. Seeing it cleared the haze from his memories. With each landmark they passed, it settled deeper into him how many times he'd walked these lanes seeking the relief lethe offered. Shame burned within him at how easily he'd been drawn in and manipulated. Now that he understood the lie in their friendship, anger stirred within him. Anger was the emotion he needed to hold onto now, to stoke. There wasn't time to indulge in a weakness like shame.

The memories of the last time he was here were vague but intense. Before ending up unsheltered through the wind, he remembered a presence. The shadow Lilim had enjoyed taking his control. Why hadn't he fought harder?

_Lose yourself to me, give me everything you are._

The words echoed in his ear as though newly spoken. He'd surrendered to her.

_There was a flask and he drank it, the sweetness of lethe lingered on his tongue._ He remembered wanting the Lethe to take everything away; wanting it to strip him of everything he was. He ruined everything. He deserved to be destroyed.

"Lucifer?"

The carving of a creature with tusks adorned the entrance of a market dome. They were stopped in the alley, Maze gripping his arm.

"I was here, this is the way I came, the markings on that wall—" he looked down the alley. "No one was around. The wind was so high it was difficult to breathe."

_He stumbled into the wall. Pain flared, lighting up his shoulder and hands. A carving of a creature with tusks filled his vision. Why was he alone? He wanted…_

"Are you with me?" Maze asked.

He shook his head. That…that was real, but not now. He needed to focus. "I'm here. I'm fine."

"It's too soon. You're not ready." Maze's expression was pinched.

"I'm fine." Lucifer gripped the staff in his hand. "Let's get this done."

She stared at him, hard, shrugged and motioned him forward. He could do this. He needed to do this. Maze slowed to a cautious pace, checking around corners before moving from one lane to the next.

_He'd stumbled through here, naked, confused, in pain_. Flashes ran through his mind. He swallowed a sudden taste of bile. If he hadn't wandered out into the winds, he'd still be there, his mind destroyed. "She wanted to destroy me," he whispered.

Maze didn't look surprised.

He was the only one who'd had no idea how much danger he'd been in, wasn't he?

A rock thumped against his back. His wings threw up a cloud of ash as they whooshed into the physical plane. He spun, staff ready. Maze bared her teeth, knife in hand.

Fraq jumped down off the roof of the dome to their side. "You're alive." The little Lilim raced up to Lucifer and jumped at him, attaching herself to his torso with her arms and legs. He stumbled and nearly fell, but even that wasn't enough to dislodge the pest. He stood, arm supporting her back awkwardly, not sure how to pry her off.

Maze stepped in, pulled the clingy whelp off him and pushed her roughly away, sending Fraq sprawling in the street. Fraq stood, brushed off the ash, and lowered her head.

Maze wasn't done. She strode forward, grabbed the whelp by her arm and shook her. "Did you know?"

Fraq whimpered and licked her lips nervously. "I tried to help. I wanted to. But Lania's got Wen. She said if I interfered she'd wreck his mind."

"Wen? That's for his mentor to worry about, not you," Maze scolded.

Lucifer remembered Fraq telling him something about Wen. "When you told me Wen was lost, did you mean lost to lethe?"

"Yes. We were a pack. I don't want him ruined." She kicked at the ash. "Even if he'll just be good as a gatherer after this, he's one of mine."

The young Lilim trembled in Maze's grip, and Lucifer was about to step in, but Maze let Fraq go. "She's got your male?"

"I saw him," Lucifer spoke up. Maze and Fraq turned and stared at him. "At Lania's Den. He refused to acknowledge me."

Fraq nodded. "I didn't know what to do."

"You should have told me or Dromos or Squee, despite the threats. Collect your pack and wait for my return at my dome. Now."

Fraq ran.

Lucifer watched her go and then turned to Maze. "Lethe dealers are targeting the whelps?"

"You're not the only one to get caught in their manipulations," Maze grumbled.

Lucifer flicked his wings to clear them of the ash that settled. With renewed purpose, he strode at Maze's side.

The nondescript dome with the simple hunting scenes, was familiar. He knew this place even though his memories remained hazy. He tugged at the sleeves of his tunic, straightening imaginary wrinkles. Maze drew her blades. He gripped his staff harder. Maze sliced the ties on the door flap and flung it open. She darted inside and a female howled with rage. Lucifer entered slower. He extended his wings and channelled his divinity.

The resulting glow lit the chamber enough to make their opponents sqint. Maze was quick to use the distraction to her advantage, and narrowed in on one female in particular.

Lucifer barred the exit, swung his staff and knocked down the only Lilim foolish enough to make an attempt to attack Maze from behind.

Lania screeched in anger and dove forward at Maze. Maze made no sound at all, only grinning as she faced the leader of the lethe den. And then, surprisingly Maze lowered her sword arm and tossed the weapon toward Lucifer's feet, attacking with her fists rather than with the blade.

Maze and the female rolled around the floor, and Lucifer watched the brawl. Maze was stunning. She whooped, feral and triumphant, as she bit and clawed and.. toyed with the other female.

There were several others, one he'd knocked down, the others content to either watch their leader get beaten down without interfering or continue what they'd been doing as if nothing unusual was happening at all. Lucifer grabbed the male climbing back to his feet by the throat and pushed him against the wall. "You know who I am?"

"Thrall." The male hissed with disgust and bared his fangs and brought his clawed hands up to Lucifer's arm. He looked between Lucifer and the corner where Maze fought Lania. The claws dug into Lucifer's flesh, blood seeped from the puncture wounds, but Lucifer held the Lilim steady.

_Thrall_. Lucifer knew that word, it referred to the lethe users by the hearth. The ones whose whole existence revolved around getting more and more lethe.

The male choked as Lucifer tightened his hold. "You used me."

The fight went out of the male, he tried to smile instead. "You want more lethe? You want to feel good? Let me go, I can get it for you."

Yes. He wanted it. But that only proved everything Maze had been telling him was true. Imitating Maze's expression, Lucifer bared his teeth in a false smile. "Who did I spend time with here?"

"Everyone. We all wanted—" the male gulped, and Lucifer relaxed his hold just enough to allow the Lilim to speak. "So good, even those who refuse throwbacks made excuses to be with a beast like you." Lucifer shook him and snarled. The male trembled, and his words jumbled together in his haste to answer. His expression turned desperate. "Didn't we give you what you wanted?"

Lucifer leaned in close, his lips against the male's cheek. He did remember this one, he had fading scars on his chest matching the male's claws. "And the dame who took me? The one with Power?"

"A dame, here? No. That would never be allowed. Lania wouldn't dare go against the Spire like that."

Lucifer felt his eyes start to burn, the anger over-riding the pain of the transformation. The male fainted and Lucifer let him drop.

When he turned back to Maze, she had Lania subdued, face down and pinned with her arms wrenched behind her back. Lucifer crouched down. "Hello."

Lania spat. Or she tried to. Maze pulled her arms back tighter and Lania cried out in pain.

"Lucifer," Lania tried to smile as he looked into her yellow eyes. These were not the golden-eyes he continued seeing in his memories. More memories assailed him at the sight of her. _Lania. Her hands were soothing as he came down from the sensations sweeping over him. Her fingers stroking him as she lay with him beside the hearth._

He stumbled back, wings flaring instinctively in response to maintain his balance.

Lucifer stood up and headed toward one of the rooms, and opened the door for Maze to drag the struggling former-dame in. There it was. The mat on the floor where he'd brought countless Lilim to the heights of pleasure.

Not just pleasure thought. This was where the shadow lilim had him.

_Flashes of pain and want and the false sense of flying and despair_. Forgetting called to him. Disgust with himself churned his stomach. He went to the shadow lilim willingly? _No_. She exploited the weakness already in him. He still _wanted_. He still wanted to forget. If Maze wasn't here the temptation to return to taking the lethe would be overwhelming.

But Maze was with him. He drew strength from her presence, and shook free of the call for more.

"You know what I'm going to ask." He let his wings glow brighter and he reached for his divinity. Lania squirmed under Maze's hold, but to no avail.

He let his glamour fade completely this time, the familiar feeling of fire licked his skin, and he looked at her with his true self. Saw the horror of it reflected in her eyes.

"I can't. She'll have me killed if I tell." Lania gasped.

"The truth. Now."

The fire within him flared into a towering inferno and he directed it at Lania. The former dame gasped and stilled in Maze's grip. Her expression went slack and she stared at him as if nothing else existed.

"She has power, don't make me name her. She'll have me killed."

Lucifer saw into Lania, all the way to the empty place a soul should be. She spoke the truth. Using his divinity to draw the truth from her left him empty and drained. He stumbled against the wall. "Anilith."

The memories descended on him like an avalanche. The power encroaching on his mind, the darkness and despair of the dungeon being brought forth, used against him. And she offered him lethe and he took it.

Maze spared him a glance and turned back to Lania. "Is this true?"

Lania lay defeated. "Yes."

"Lucifer, did Anilith couple with you?"

He nodded.

Whatever happened next got lost in the rush of noise in his own head as he struggled to stay on his feet. When his head cleared, Maze had Lania on the floor, her knee in the middle of Lania's back, hissing threats of the most vile tortures into Lania's ear. "Who else knows? We need proof," Maze asked.

"No one. If she ever suspected we knew she coupled with a beast, she'd assassinate us all." Lania gasped as Maze pressed on her harder.

"Why do this? Why would the Soverain risk exposure to lethe?" Maze asked, but no answers were given.

They were alone in this. His own memories of the event were dim. Anilith was beyond their reach, she could do whatever she wanted and they were powerless against her. But like Lania said, what would it do to Anilith's reputation if others knew she coupled with a beast? They could only fight her by turning the game around. Battle her on her own terms…

"Maze." He called from where he sat leaning against the wall. "Stop."

Maze looked over at him, her face twisted with rage. There would be no stopping her. If Lania died, there would be no proving who was behind this. No one here knew anything of value. The only solution would be to lure Anilith back in. And to do that… he needed to be back here.

"I need to come back here," he told Maze.

And her response was no less than what he'd expected. Maze leapt off of Lania and slammed into him. Her hands tangled in the collar of his tunic, pushed him against the wall, her face only a breath away from his. "Never. You will return home and stay there! Even if I have to tie you down."

Lucifer glanced at Lania to make sure she was watching. Of course she was. He made a show of averting his gaze from Maze, and licked his lips in the submissive fashion he'd seen in Fraq's males. He lowered his voice to barely a whisper, "I have a plan."

"You-you"—she shook him—"you will come with me." She dragged him out of the room and into the next one. "What is the meaning of this? Why am I not making her pay right now, Lucifer?"

"Killing her will solve nothing. It's Anilith."

"There's nothing I can do about that. Lania deserves all I plan to do to her and more."

"What if we can fight Anilith. What if we give her what she wants, draw her out?"

"We don't know what she wants."

"We know she wants me."

"You almost died, Lucifer!"

"Anilith can get away with whatever she wants. She can manipulate us, turn us against each other and there's nothing we can do to prevent that. I know what I am to the Lilim, Maze. Why must no one know Anilith has coupled with a beast?"

"Lilim blood must not be mixed with that of the lower creatures. It's taboo, punishable by death, for dames to produce sprog with beasts. If we had proof she coupled with you—"

"I didn't have you beside me. I'll return here, we can draw her out. "

"No. I won't let you do this. You're still recovering from the last time."

"Lania uses lethe, doesn't she? That's what you said. For how long? How has she survived all this time?"

"None of them have overused to the point of losing themselves. You have. You came so close to losing everything. Is it because you crave more?" She shook him. "I should have foreseen this."

"You know it's our best chance of finding who we want."

Maze released him and paced across the room. "It's a bad idea."

Lucifer grabbed Maze's arms and drew her in. "You have to be my handler for this to work."

She twisted in his grasp, but he held tight.

"You said an attack on me is equal to an attack on you. We can make this work. Rillam said there was coin to be had. A lot of coin. Tell them your anger was in being left out of the loop. Over letting me wander out into the winds. They think I'm no more than a beast. They call you my handler, Maze. We can use this to our advantage."

She pushed him off and he stumbled back several steps. He didn't expect her to be happy with the plan. "Maze—"

"No." She turned on him again, her jaw clenched tight. "How can you be okay with this? You hate when anyone refers to me as your handler."

"So do you."

"I won't watch you ruin yourself."

"You want to prove who was behind this? This is how. If we stop here, something like this will happen again."

"And you want to keep coming here and take the lethe that comes with it." She narrowed her eyes, walked slowly around him.

Lucifer kept his breath steady. He refused to respond.

She trailed her hand across his chest. "You're no more than a thrall to them." She drew him close, pressed her lips to his throat and dragged her teeth across his skin. "If that's what you want, I can do it for you better than any of these can. You want me to feed you lethe, keep you content even as I strip away everything you are?"

"Enough!"

She smiled predatorily, wrapped her arm around his back. "You said it yourself, Lucifer. I own you. I'm your handler. I can do what I want." And her arm crept up until her fingers caressed his feathers.

He snapped his wings as his eyes flared, and grabbed her wrist and forced her away from him.

Maze eyed him critically. "_Are_ you doing this to get more lethe, Lucifer?"

"No." It was difficult to catch his breath, he couldn't get control, why couldn't he?

"Anilth needs to be stopped." Maze concluded.

Lucifer frowned and let her go. "What?"

"You're right. It's the best way to get our prey to fall into our—your—lap. I just needed to make sure what we're going to do to get there disturbs you as much as it does me."

The fire within him cooled. "That's what that was?"

"Are you going to be capable of playing your role in this?"

"Of course I am. It was my idea."

She laughed. "We'll see. You want me to play along, we'll do this as I say."

Lucifer's mouth felt dry. "How are you going to do that without scaring everyone off?"

She sighed and he felt a peculiar prickling sensation as the air around her shimmered and her face morphed, the boney side smoothing out as horns emerged from her temples, curling upward and back, and her mouth widened and her jaw protruded outwards, fangs growing up from her lower teeth. "You're not the only one with power." Even her voice sounded different.

"Yeah. I think that will do." Lucifer conceded.

Maze glared. "If anyone interferes with you, I'm getting you out of here. Deal?"

He nodded, stepped up close to her again. "Deal." He kissed the side of her mouth, avoiding the fangs. "We're going to trap her, and make her wish she never got between us."


	35. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion 19 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivian**

**19/21**

* * *

It was the most slug-brained idea she'd ever heard.

And Lucifer convinced her to go along with it. That made them both idiots. "Follow my lead," she warned him.

Lucifer grinned and rolled his shoulders as his wings disappeared. Mazikeen allowed her glamour to fade and her own face settled back into place. So, he was going to be smug about it was he? She would show him just how bad the whole idea was. With a grunt, Mazikeen grabbed his arm and shoved him into the main area of the den. He stumbled and fell to his knees. She tried to make eye contact, to reassure herself that he understood the role she played, but he displayed nothing but submission.

Mazikeen straightened her posture, and pushed a frisson of power into the room around her to ensure the attention of all those around her. Lania was only now dragging herself out of the private room. Weak. Mazikeen kept hold of Lucifer's arm and cornered the lethe dealer. "You damaged him, you'll deal with the consequences."

"I only allowed a sustaining dose. Someone else gave him more. We didn't damage him." Lania cowered and braced herself for another beating.

"Apparently _this_ is all he's good for. I am a wall-guard, _vowed_ to stand watch. The angel requires supervision. If you can provide that, we have something to discuss."

"And why would I believe that you accept _me_ to handle him?" Lania leaned against the wall, her confidence returning.

"I don't trust you. I do need coin, and from what I've heard, coin is something he produced for you in abundance. Why shouldn't I take advantage of an opportunity? I deserve something for the trouble of handling him, don't I?"

Lania laughed, and Maze gritted her teeth. "You come here threatening me and mine, and now—"

"You used what is _mine_ for your own gain. That is not a slight I take lightly. You're to return him each ash-fall before wind-rise, with the coin you make off him. Take my offer. In exchange, I'll let you continue to breathe"

Lania barked a laugh. "How am I to feed and care for him? If I am to take over your duties, there are costs involved. It is time consuming and expensive to provide adequate care," she cajoled.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mazikeen saw one of Lania's cohorts, a female, step up behind Lucifer and caress his face with the back of her hand. He automatically leaned into her, his head tilting toward her hand, mouth opening ever so slightly.

Did he know what he was doing?

"Keep what you need to compensate for his care," Mazikeen accepted Lania's counter offer.

"And the lethe?" Lania asked, glancing past Mazikeen, grinning at the display Lucifer was making. "He will want more. That is what our patrons are here for."

"You left him damaged and exposed to the winds." The anger slipped back into Mazikeen's tone.

"An unfortunate miscalculation." Lania pushed past Mazikeen, confidence returning to her body language. "His coupling partner was over enthusiastic with her gifts. It won't happen again."

"He was damaged before then. _Tortured_. It will not happen again."

"We gave him no more than he asked for." Lania hummed. "You don't even know what you're missing, do you?" She reached on the shelf for a jar and pried open the lid. "See how the angel reacts?"

It was too soon to be pushing this poison on him again. Mazikeen licked her finger and dipped it into the powder. A thin covering of powder stuck to her skin.

When she turned, Lucifer had stood and crowded near her. His eyes were on her. Not on her, on her hand, and what she offered. He was already swaying, and she took his elbow to hold him steady. "This is what you want?"

He nodded, opened his mouth, and licked her finger. He let out a soft moan and leaned forward, taking her hand in his, wrapping his lips around her finger, sucking every bit of powder off her skin that he could.

The effects were quick. His eyes lost their focus and tracked things around the room she couldn't see, his body swayed. "More?" he asked, reaching for her hand again.

But before he could touch her, his knees buckled. Mazikeen grabbed him before he fell and guided him down to the floor. He stared up at her and grinned, reaching for her, but she stepped back. The Lilim who'd been slithering up beside him earlier knelt at his side, and dipped down to catch his lips with hers, probably hoping for some left over lethe to enter her system.

Lucifer reached up and caught the female's shoulder, pulling her closer.

"You don't want to try him yourself?" Lania asked.

Mazikeen glanced back with disdain. "He's not our kind," she answered. "What others care to couple with isn't my concern."

Lania purred at Mazikeen's answer. "A true handler then. We understand each other. Yes? We will feed him twice per ashfall. No meat per his preferences. Provide him with the lethe he wants, and release him to return to you before wind rise. We keep half the coin that he brings in."

Lucifer moaned behind her, the sound muffled as the female closed her mouth over his. "Half?" She laughed. "You will feed him, provide him with no more lethe than I just gave him, ensure he comes to no harm, and you, personally, will escort him to and from my dome each ashfall. You may keep one third of the coin he brings in."

Lania looked past Mazikeen to the group coupling behind her. The sounds of pleasure coming from Lucifer made Mazikeen's blood boil. How dare they—how dare Lucifer—

He'd almost died from the lethe use. These Lilim left him exposed to the wind, barely able to walk, unable to communicate. How could he be so eager to take up with them again? Anger surged through her, at Lucifer, at herself for allowing this to continue...

A pitiful wail drowned out the rest of her sentence. It wasn't from Lucifer or any of his partners. He seemed more than delighted to be holding the hips of the Lilim female, guiding her higher where he could reach her with his mouth. A male had joined beside them, his hand seeking under Lucifer's tunic.

The cry sounded again, from one of the back rooms.

Mazikeen darted forward and Lania grabbed her arm to stop her from going further.

"That is a private room. None of your business."

"What are you involved in?"

"I only provide space—"

But Mazikeen shook Lania off and strode forward. She'd seen no sign of the whelps Fraq had told her about thus far.

Solid doors were rare in the collective, but Lania seemed to have an abundance of them within her dome. This door was barred from the outside. Mazikeen pushed the bar from the door and swung it open. What she found inside made her feel ill.

Whelps. Three males. They lay sprawled out and sleeping on thin bedrolls, shivering. One, smaller than the others with large grey horns curling around his ears and small fangs poking up past his lips, lay curled on his side, keening in misery.

"You will release them. Whelps are off limits."

"They came to us." Lania complained. "They're not nestlings anymore."

Mazikeen growled. "Whelps have always been off limits. Everyone knows this. They are still under the protection of the nest-minders"

"I'm keeping them safe. We'll never lose another thrall to the winds. We only provide what they want—"

"Damaging a whelp, damages the Lilim." Mazikeen spat, tempted to end the entire deal. But Lania was too young to remember the days before collectives and walls were forged. Here in Anilith's collective, with the abundance of dames and the protection of the nest, Lilim young could be taken for granted. But Maze remembered back when sprog and spawn died of ash-lung and hunger, and the constant threat from beasts and other warring Lilim tribes threatened to wipe out the Lilim completely.

Lania backed against the wall and Mazikeen followed, tempted to end the charade and rip Lania's throat out.

"You will not harm another," Maze ordered. Lania sagged, breathing fast. "I am not the one you should fear over this." She waved in the direction of the still whimpering whelp. "It would be a shame if Dromos found out what you've been doing here." She waited a moment for the fear to bloom across Lania's expression again. "And he will know where to find the next one that goes missing, won't he?"

"Y-y-you wouldn't! You gain more by keeping me alive!"

Mazikeen barred her teeth. "You threaten the young of our kind and you think I care more about coin?"

Lania paled. "No more whelps. Our deal for the angel stands?"

"Yes. The deal stands, for now," Mazikeen growled. "The whelps leave with me." She crouched down and inspected each in turn. Two were simply sleeping and didn't seem too badly damaged as she woke them, but the one on his side keening worried her. His eyes were dim. She'd seen this with Lucifer. The whelp was cold and in pain at the slightest touch.

The whelp cried out in pain as she lifted him to give him sips from the waterskin full of sleeping draught. He quieted, but his eyes remained open and unseeing. He was weak, possibly beyond help. She hoped this wasn't Fraq's Wen. Now that he was unconscious, she wrapped him in her cloak, and lifted him in her arms. It was time to leave.

She hoped Lucifer was well enough to walk out of here, assuming she could get his focus off sex long enough to get him moving.

The most aware of the whelps touched her arm. "Where are we?"

"A bad place, but you're coming with me now."

He nodded.

"Help the other up and follow me."

She stood and waited until the whelp had followed her instructions. "Follow close."

In the main room, Lucifer was still preoccupied. The male lay half atop Lucifer nipping at his throat. Lucifer's belt was undone and his tunic rucked up.

"Get up, Lucifer. We're leaving now."

He frowned, and for a brief moment she feared he would refuse. But he blinked, pushed aside those who were interested him and focused his attention on her. "Maze?"

Mazikeen adjusted the unconscious whelp in her arms and freed one hand to pull Lucifer to his feet. "Fasten your belt."

Lucifer looked down at his state of disarray, fumbled with the belt, and secured it well enough. "Fix yourself. We're headed outside."

He knelt and retied the sandals, then regarded the whelp in her arms. "Oh. That's…" he cleared his throat and retrieved his cloak from the floor where it had been discarded earlier. It was big enough to fit over the slender shoulders of the other two males walking side by side.

Maze kept a close eye on Lucifer as they made their way through the lanes. This was too much. The way he'd responded to just that small amount of Lethe she offered was enough to doubt their entire plan.

"Are you with me?"

Lucifer walked slightly behind the two males, his footstep stumbling periodically. "I am." He glanced over his shoulder, quiet for a while. "We're being followed."

Maze nodded, but didn't dare turn to look. "How many?"

"Two. From the lethe den," he mumbled.

"Good. I wasn't sure how aware you were."

"I'm aware," he assured her. "Maze—"

"Let them follow. They're to think we have nothing to hide. Come walk at my side."

He glanced at the males, still walking side by side with his cloak over them. "But—"

"They're fine." She assured him, and he quickened his pace to catch up.

"There are other options," Mazikeen whispered. "I won't have you start taking that poison again."

"What options?" Lucifer asked.

"I'll keep asking around. Someone will know something."

He shook his head. "No. This will work."

"I don't like it." Maze glanced at him, but Lucifer didn't look like he had any doubts at all.

"You don't have to. We'll find her, and end this."

They were quiet the rest of the way to her dome by the wall. Fraq and her two males were piled together by the fire, sleeping. Fraq woke when they entered and she immediately rushed to Mazikeen's side, tugging at the male in her arms.

"Let him sleep." She let Fraq take him, place him by the fire and reclaimed her cloak. The other two from the den joined Bof and Grog, and all four males snuggled close, curling around each other. The larger of the two groaned, beginning to tremble. She sighed and passed the flask to Fraq. These two would need a strong pack. "Give them two sips each, and have Bof and Grog keep them warm."

While Fraq dealt with the males, Maze set about making some scalded ooze porridge. She kept a close eye on Lucifer. He sat away from the others, on the far side of the dome, his back against the wall. She gave him his space and set out enough bowls for everyone, the drugged whelps would eat when they woke. Fraq handed Bof and Grog their portion. They stayed curled around their sleeping charge as they ate, and Fraq wrapped herself around Wen to eat hers.

Maze retrieved the flask and brought it and the porridge to Lucifer. She sat at his side, and gave him the porridge first.

He accepted and started to eat. "I didn't think I'd be welcome back here."

Maze punched his thigh, not with a lot of force, but enough to make him wince and look her way. "This is your home."

"Is it?"

"_I_ am your home," she glanced at her trophy pouch, they hadn't spoken of it yet, and she didn't know how to explain what it meant to her that he'd saved it. "Lucifer, I found what you left for me. The pouch. And the coin. Why? There were hardly any provisions left in the dome, what were you saving the coin for?"

"I wanted to give you the pouch sooner," Lucifer admitted. "But I didn't know how. I was at fault for what happened and—I didn't want to make things worse."

Mazikeen wrapped her fingers around his. "I should have protected you better."

He continued. "I saved the coin for you to use as a bribe to be free from the wall-guards. Rillam told me I could make more at Lania's Den than at the Leviathan's Pit."

She squeezed his hand. "If that's where Anilith wants me to be, there's not enough coin in the collective to buy my way out of it. Rillam would know that." She placed a flask in Lucifer's hand. "I added a sleeping draught. Drink it."

He held the flask, fine tremors shook his hands. "I'll be fine."

"You won't. Sleep will help ease the side effects of going back on the lethe."

He drank it, and then tilted his head back against the wall. Maze watched over him as it took effect, his eyes drifted shut, and his head lolled. She eased him onto his side and draped her cloak over him.

Bof and Grog had fallen asleep with their charges. That left her and Fraq.

"Should I run and get the nest-minder?" Fraq asked.

Mazikeen shook her head. "It's too close to wind rise. No harm will come to them sleeping here."

"Do you think Wen will be okay?"

Mazikeen took a breath. The dull look in the eyes didn't bode well. "No. But I'm sure he was strong to last as long as he did."

Fraq clenched her jaw. "Did you kill them? Did you make them pay for this?"

"Not yet. I still need them for now."

The whelp's hands fisted, anger taking over. "Why not?"

Mazikeen eyed the whelp, taking her measure. Fraq was a good pack leader; she was protective of her males. She liked Lucifer. Mazikeen needed a loyal aide in this endeavor, and Fraq was the Lilim to fill the position. "The Spire is involved."

The whelp's eyes widened and her coloring paled. "The Spire?"

"Yes. Are you afraid to go further?"

Fraq glanced back at the pile of males sleeping by the fire. Her gaze lingered on the far too still bundle of Wen on the other side. "They took my male." She nodded toward Lucifer. "They took yours." Her expression turned hard. "Spire or no, I want to end them."

Mazikeen clapped her on the back. "Good! We need the dealers to believe that I am selling Lucifer's services in exchange for a cut of the coin. The dame who hurt him won't come back if she thinks I am lurking in the shadows, so I must be standing duty on the wall. Do you understand?"

Fraq thought about it for a moment before speaking. "You need a stand-in on the wall. Me."

"Exactly!"

"How will you watch? They know what you look like. And you are taller than me, will no one notice?"

"I have power enough to hide my features. My post is at the farthest edge of the wall. The only one who goes that far is the whelp that delivers the food. You seem to have a way with the males. Either convince him to keep quiet or pay him. I will give you coin. No one else will look closely. How is your leatherworking?"

"Passable. Why?"

"We have a wind to make a set of armor for you that passes as mine from a distance."

Fraq looked back at the males again. "What about them? They're lost without me. And Wen…"

"They will go with Wen to the nest. Squee and Dromos have experience in easing the suffering of whelps on Lethe. If your males, Bof and Grog, are house-trained, then you may keep them here."

Fraq spluttered with indignation. "House-trained? What kind of pack leader do you think I am? They'll behave. No breaking. No stealing. No messes."

"Good. We have a lot of work to do."


	36. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion 20 of 21

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion**

**20/21**

* * *

Lucifer batted at the hand shaking his shoulder. He wanted to sleep. Needed to sleep.

"Lucifer. The winds will die down soon. You need to eat before Lania gets here."

He pried his eyes open, and saw a blurry image of Maze above him. He reached for her hand and missed. His muscles ached and his head hurt, so he squeezed his eyes closed and wrapped around her.

"Lucifer. Wake up. Eat."

He knew his thoughts were slow, but the important things fell into place. Lania. The Den. Catching the dame. He sighed, dragged himself upright.

Maze gripped his chin and tilted his face up to her. He stared into her eyes, trying to bring them into focus.

A face popped up over Maze's shoulder, catching Lucifer's attention. Bright blue scales, fading out across the cheeks and forehead, surrounded the even brighter blue, slit-pupiled eyes. Derd, one of the males they'd taken from Lania.

Lania. Her scales were blue, too. Lucifer loved them and the way they shimmered in the firelight...

"He looks like Wen," Derd said.

Maze released Lucifer and bellowed, "Fraq!"

Fraq was busy tending to the armor she had to wear as Mazikeen's stand-in for wall duty and growled at Bof. "Bof! Get Derd away from Mazikeen. You know better!"

"Yes, Fraq." Bof scuttled away from the fire, and wrapped an arm around Derd's shoulders. Bof was the smallest of the five whelps living in Maze's dome, but by far the most reliable of the males. The tip of the spikes protruding from the top of his head barely reached Derd's ears, but Lucifer had seen enough Lilim to know size didn't equal maturity.

Maze sighed and turned her attention back to Lucifer. "Steady your eyes on me. Can you focus?"

He tried, but a jar fell from the shelf beside the hearth and broke, and Fraq yelled at Skoot and Grog to get away from the fire.

Maze's voice became worried. "Do you feel dizzy?"

Dizzy was a bad sign. The lethe, even the reduced dose Maze allowed, took its toll. The room felt uneven, as though it were moving and Maze let him lie back down again without making him answer.

He couldn't focus. These were simple tests, focus on her eyes, maintain eye contact without drifting.

"You need time to rest."

"I'll rest after," he mumbled.

Maze placed her hand on his arm. "Are you cold?"

Was he? It was always cold, did she mean more than usual?

"You were chilled last wind-rise when I gave you the sleeping draught."

"I don't remember." He shifted and the blanket dragged across the raised scratch marks a female had left on his back last ashfall.

"Lucifer. You need to eat."

He sat up again. Skoot and Grog rolled around the far side of the dome, snapping and snarling. It was play, but with undercurrents of something more. The way they grappled and held on an extra moment, their bites lingering…

Maze placed the bowl in his hands and he pulled his attention away from the whelps.

"What makes them not whelps anymore?"

"Training." She sat beside him, her shoulder pressed to his.

Lucifer took a few bites. "Wen can't train. Does he stay a whelp?"

"A gatherer will take him on, or Dromos, maybe, if he thinks Wen can help in the nest. A place will be found for him."

"And Derd?" Bof was showing the whelp how to grind dried mushrooms for the third time since Lucifer's gaze had been drawn to them.

"He's not as addled, and will improve more."

He swallowed. "And me?"

"You're not Lilim." She tipped his chin up to look at her. "I like you the way you are."

The winds still hadn't calmed, so Lucifer leaned back against the wall of the dome. Grog and Skoot had shed their tunics and their wrestling was now interspersed with soft licks and caresses. Fraq paced near the door flap. She took her part in this farce so serious that it was clear to see she was well on her way to becoming a warrior.

Maneuvering to get ready in a small space with so many bodies was a feat unto itself, but soon, Maze was dressed in her armor, and Lucifer had on his chiton and leggings. He couldn't hide the grimace as he reached for the laces of his sandals. He needed his morning dose of lethe. Maze brushed his fingers aside and tied them herself. "Lucifer. This has to stop. I won't help kill you."

"Just a little while longer, Maze. Couldn't you feel it?"

"Feel what? My rage as I watch them—"

"Power. I felt it late in the ashfall. Outside the Den. She was near, I know it."

"And you didn't say anything?"

"When did I have a chance between the lethe and your sleep draught? I felt it. If she doesn't come for me this ashfall, it will be soon."

Maze looked sour. "Very well. Up you get." She grabbed his wrist and helped him stand. It took a moment for the room to stop spinning, but she didn't let go until he was steady. "Losing your appetite for sex?" she asked.

He scoffed. "Hardly."

It was time to go. Lania's voice called from outside the door flap. "Send him out."

Maze untied the door flap and pushed it aside. "I'll see you soon."

Lucifer nodded and ducked out the door where Lania waited, scowling. How many times did he have to listen to the former dame rant about how escorting a thrall was beneath her dignity. He kept his head down. He wasn't beneath her dignity when she wanted what he could provide, was he? That brought a smile to his lips. He knew what she desired. That was the key. There was more than just coin she got out of her arrangement with Maze.

"More trouble than you're worth," Lania mumbled. "You better prove your usefulness soon, or even she is going to get tired of you."

But Lucifer knew it was all hot air. It wasn't about usefulness to each other for him and Maze, they were partners.

…

Mazikeen saw it all, and hated every moment of it.

With her glamour hiding her features, she entered the Lethe den and took her usual place in the far corner. No one noticed her there. Mostly because they weren't supposed to. The power could be manipulated to repel attention just as easily as attract it.

Lucifer came in just behind Lania, his cloak and his clothing were removed and placed aside. He joined several Lilim lounging on a pile of furs and stretched out. Lania dipped her finger in the Lethe bowl, Lucifer took her hand and licked it off. Sucking obscenely to get every last bit.

It had been the same routine each ashfall. Lilim arrived, and he enthusiastically joined them in whatever pleasures they had in mind. Most of the encounters took place in the common area. How anyone preferred the experience of coupling while dulled by drugs, Mazikeen didn't understand. Their movements and technique were sloppy and uncoordinated. Lucifer deserved more attentive and refined partners to match his skill.

It bothered her more when he followed his partners into the back rooms where she couldn't keep watch over him.

He often didn't emerge from those encounters on his own. Lania or one of her lackeys retrieved him and returned him to the hearth. They provided food and drink after those encounters, and soon Lucifer would rejoin the other thralls lounging on the furs as though everything was fine despite the way his hands trembled and the bruised circles under his eyes depened. He kept telling her it was fine.

It wasn't. Mazikeen's anger burned hotter each time. If she never had to hear the word thrall again, it would be too soon.

Lucifer offered a slight smile to the newest Lilim paying him attention. A female, hooded eyes, forked tongue and fangs, she leaned down and bit Lucifer's shoulder, leaving marks. His breath caught, a mixed expression of pain and hunger. The long tongue flicked out and licked at the reddened skin where her teeth had left their mark, and Lucifer released a sigh.

Mazikeen was on her feet before she was fully aware of what she was doing, grabbed the offending female's arm, and shoved her out of the way. "My turn."

The female apparently wasn't interested enough to fight for her right to first dibs and bowed out. Thankfully the glamour held. Mazikeen threw coin down on the floor and Lania's helpers scrambled to get at it.

Lucifer stared at her, but didn't argue when she pointed at the private room. He grinned and led the way. Mazikeen slammed the door shut behind them. A solid door. A door that was difficult to hear through when it was closed.

"I've had enough."

Lucifer blinked at her. "Oh?"

He didn't flinch when she strode up and grabbed his arm. "You're tired of watching? You want a turn?"

She grabbed his wrist. "I'm tired of this game. I'm going to put an end to this and take you home."

"We agreed this was the best way."

"You did." She lisped, the fangs getting in the way of forming her words properly. Frustration took over and she let go of the glamour, her own face slipping back into place. "It's getting late. Wind-rise will come soon. The ruse didn't work, Anilith isn't coming back."

"We can't stop yet."

"No more lethe. I forbid it."

He pulled away. "Forbid it, do you?"

She glared. "You're deteriorating. How much have they been giving you? Is it more than what I agreed?"

"More than my allotted dose? No. But if you're offering."

She wanted to scream and hit and bite.

Lucifer smirked. "Are you sure it's the lethe you're upset about and not something else?"

"Like what?"

The corner of his mouth turned up. "You've been watching me couple with how many Lilim over the past hands of ashfalls, and you haven't touched me once back at your dome."

"Our dome."

"You don't like when I'm with other Lilim, do you?" he teased.

Mazikeen growled. "Why should I care?"

"Because you don't have control. You like being in control, don't you Maze?" He paused, a far away look came over his face a moment before grabbing her hand. "Maze, your glamour, now!"

There was just enough time to reestablish her glamour, before Lucifer stepped up to her, and licked at her neck. "I sense her, Anilith is near," he whispered. "You know what happens in here. You have to—"

Mazikeen snarled and shoved him to the floor. He yelped, but grinned as she straddled him and dragged her claws along the outlines of his ribs. He shuddered and arched his back.

"Yes."

"You like that?" She leaned forward, letting the fangs scrape his throat.

Lucifer groaned. "Mmhmm. You have all kinds of talents I haven't experienced yet, don't you?"

Mazikeen brought her hand up under his back, pulling him closer—

And the door opened.

A wave of power swept through the small room, overwhelming Mazikeen's awareness. Lucifer's expression turned pained.

"BEGONE." The word twisted and drilled its way into Mazikeen's mind. It took all the focus she had to fend off the intrusion. Lucifer, compromised by lethe as he was, didn't stand a chance to resist. Mazikeen scuttled away from Lucifer, playing the final act of her part in this. Lucifer's hand spasmed against her arm and his gaze found hers, eyes pleading. She turned her head away.

Mazikeen stumbled into the hall, but made sure to leave the door open. They couldn't risk being overwhelmed by numbers after all this. The patrons were going about their normal business as if they heard nothing. There was no sign of extra warriors or attendants. Of course, Anilith wouldn't want witnesses to her escapades. No guards were needed; with the kind of power Anilith exerted, the whole place could catch fire and no one would be the wiser.

Satisfied for the moment, Mazikeen raced back to the room. Anilith, wrapped in shadow as she was, had lost all interest in Mazikeen after the order. All the force of her power to command was brought to bear on Lucifer alone.

As Mazikeen snuck back into the room she realised Aniliths own ego would be responsible for her downfall.

"Show me who you are on the inside," the voice shrouded by shadow demanded.

Lucifer thrashed side to side, a scream ripped from his throat like Mazikeen hadn't heard since the fiery lake. His wings unfurled and flames consumed his flesh, burning away his glamour. Mazikeen froze in horror at the scene until Lucifer stopped screaming, drawing in ragged, fast breaths.

"You know how to ease your pain," the voice purred. Anilith placed a flask on the floor beside where Lucifer lay. He started to reach, fingers grasping at the container.

It jolted Mazikeen out of her horrified staring. "ENOUGH!" She poured her own power into the command, and it made the shadow's hand pause. Mazikeen followed it with a punch carried from her hip all the way through, aiming for a space on the other side of the shadow's head. The glamour fell away from Anilith as she hit the floor, dazed.

Mazikeen's stomach jumped and her mouth ran dry. The Soverain on the floor, one leg draped across Lucifer's waist, her head pillowed on his wing. He rolled to his side, knocking her entirely to the floor as he curled in on himself, shaking and breathing hard.

"Lucifer?"

He bolted up, stopping short when he saw his own skin, his burned appearance. And then he saw the flask. The flask he'd told her before certainly contained enough lethe tainted water to destroy his mind completely.

She wasn't fast enough. He reached out and grabbed it, lifted the cap, and brought it to his mouth. After one swallow he stopped, and looked down at the Soverain laying beside him. Mazikeen bridged the distance and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Give me the flask."

He refused, ignoring Mazikeen completely. Anilith groaned, and Lucifer shuddered, his glamour settling back over his features. His expression was hard and his eyes flamed.

"You." His wings extended and he crouched above Anilith as she lay dazed. Light filled the room as the divinity in his feathers grew bright.

Mazikeen shielded her eyes with her hand, but refused to back away.

Anilith squinted up at him, but her expression was ugly, filled with contempt.

"Why?" Lucifer asked, the sound a multitude of tones as power laced his voice.

"You dare speak to me?" Anilith resisted.

He laughed. "Speak? Oh, we've done so much more." The light from Lucifer's wings intensified.

Mazikeen squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear so much light.

"Wings." Anilith answered breathlessly, "If I birthed a sprog with wings, we'd never need an angel again. I'd have my own divinity to harvest as needed."

"Lucifer's not Lilim." Mazikeen kept her face turned away, she didn't need to see the Soverain to hear the pain in her voice. "You would break Mother's decree for wings? You know the penalty for diluting Lilim blood with that of beasts. What would you have done had you produced such a creature?"

The entire room was consumed in light and flame. Anilith answered, her voice oddly flat. "No one would know. Another secret for the dungeon."

"You would do that to your own creation?" Lucifer asked, "An offspring made to your choosing, and you would punish it for being what you designed?"

"Yes," Anilith answered, the truth the only option she had.

If Mazikeen told Lucifer to stop, would he? She kept silent.

The Soverain began to scream and continued until she ran out of breath. The room grew silent. The light faded, and Mazikeen dared to open her eyes again.

Anilith lay with her mouth open in silent horror.

Lucifer lay on the floor beside the Soverain, the flask still gripped in his hand. Mazikeen rushed to his side, feeling for a pulse. Don't let him be dead. But no, he still breathed.

The flask was empty. He drank it? Knowing what it would do to him? She'd have to send for Squee. Dromos had helped him recover once, he would do it again.

But Anilith groaned. Mazikeen glanced over, weary of the threat the Soverain still posed, and that was when she saw it. Yellow eyes.

Lucifer hadn't drank the lethe in the flask. He'd given it to Anilith.

The Soverain lay shivering, weak and pathetic in her nakedness.

Mazikeen turned to the Soverain. "You'll be exiled. Limbs broken, left helpless in the sulfur fields for the wargs to devour when our collective hears of your crime."

"You blinded me, took my sight." Anilith rolled onto her side, sobbing, arm raised protectively over her face. "No, Mazikeen, mercy."

Was that all Anilith thought they'd taken from her? Mazikeen laughed. "Release me of my vow. Give me full rights to the angel. He's mine."

"Anything. Yes. Help me, sister," Anilith reached out.

Mazikeen took a comb from Anilith's hair. It was intricately designed, the handle in the shape of Anilith's personal symbol—a snake with a female head and arms like pincers. She turned back to Lucifer, who was already beginning to sit up. When he looked again at Anilith, his wings snapped open, light once more bursting forth. Maze placed her hand on his arm. "It's done."

Lucifer sagged back to the floor. "What now?"

"We leave her here. She got herself here, she can get herself back."

"No-ooo," Anilith wailed.

He raised his head. "You're letting her live?"

"We own her now. She's released me from the vow, and I've taken the trophy to prove it." She held up the comb. She considered and searched Anilith's clothes for anything better.

Lucifer let his head fall back down. "Can we go home?'


	37. Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion 21 of 21 Finale

**Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion**

**21/21**

* * *

He knew he should feel elated. They won, didn't they? Maze collected his clothing, dressed him. Helped put on his sandals. He was drained. The dose of lethe water he'd taken from the flask didn't begin to fill the need. Seeing Anilith defeated, humiliated, blinded by the power in his wings, gave him no satisfaction either.

There was only emptiness inside him, and a chill that he feared would never let go.

On the way out of Lania's Den, Traz rushed in the door, frantic and searching. Maze barely cast Anilith's favorite warrior a look as they walked out.

Lucifer needed to stop several times along the way to rest. His hands shook. The headache returned. A need burned inside him. There would be no more lethe now. If he could only have a little more to get him through—

But Maze held his arm, and he knew better than to ask. The rest of the way home was a blur. A warm hearth awaited them. The four males gathered around, offering food and sitting far too close. Maze shooed them outside and Lucifer lay down on the bedroll.

"That's it, Anilith remains Soverain?" he asked.

Maze sat beside him, her hand rested on his shoulder. "If they can hide the fact she's been compromised by lethe. Eventually someone will find out. Who knows what will happen then. Many will fight for her position. Other collectives will take the opportunity to strike while we're weak. It's happened countless times in other collectives, power never lasts. I'm a free Lilim again, Lucifer. That's what matters."

"Will she keep her word?"

Maze tossed an ornate pouch on the ground between him and the hearth. "I have her talisman pouch and the comb. If she tries to deny me, I have this to prove our claim."

He closed his eyes, shivers over taking his body. Maze tossed extra moss on the hearth, and prepared a flask of sleeping draught.

Lucifer sat up and accepted the flask. Anything to end the chills and emptiness inside. Mazikeen turned and called Bof and Grog closer. "Go collect Fraq. I have a task for her."

They ran off, pushing each other all the way.

"And what of me?" Lucifer asked, as he felt heat of the drug travel through his body, and the darkness start to grip him.

"You'll always be mine."

And then he slept.

…

"This isn't right. We can't let this happen."

The sound of the crowd surged. Lania, emaciated and already bloody wailed as Spire guards locked her wrists into the whipping post on the stage in the marketplace.

"Lucifer, you know we can't stop this. This is justice. Dozens. She lured dozens of whelps to lethe over the sprog cycles. The one thing Lilim agree on is not harming our young. They defied that and now they'll pay. Starting with her."

"She deserves everything she gets for what she did to Wen," Fraq's voice twisted with hatred.

Lucifer swallowed. He had seen Wen. The little whelp understood a few words. With patience and supervision he could manage tasks such as turning the spit over the fire in the nest cooking area. Wen had smiled when he saw Fraq, and cried when she left him.

A meaty thud reached Lucifer's ears accompanied by a sharp cry. Lania bled from a wound on her forehead. Stones flew thick and fast, thuds and cracks and cries until she hung limp and bloody, stones piling up at her feet and climbing up her legs long after she was dead.

Lucifer turned away, forcing his way through the crowd. Lania was only the first. He understood. This was a harsh world, survival, difficult and unlikely, and crimes against the young threatened the survival of the species.

Next in line, Rillam's voice cut through the crowd, begging for her life.

….

Lucifer stood on the wall, wind buffeting his wings. The sensation of air rushing between his feathers conjured memories of flying. In his mind's eye, he saw starlight. His skin tingled with the ghost of hot sunshine on his bare skin.

Lucifer brought his wings into full extension and stepped up to the very edge. The tension coming off Maze was palpable.

"I'm not going down there to save you when you land on your ass."

Yes she would. But she wasn't going to need to.

A deep breath. He drew in the divinity, gathering it. The more he brought forth, the greater the pull he felt from the world around him, but with practice he knew it was a power that could eventually be harnessed. He snapped his wings down, testing his strength. He leaned forward, wings out, this was it.

One more step forward, the wind rushed through his feathers. Down. Down. He harnessed the air around him, glided, and then snapped his wings down, the flight was his.

With Maze by his side, anything was possible.


End file.
